


Into the Woods

by sysrae



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Actors, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Theatre, Bisexual Dean, Brief mention of past drug use, Community Theatre, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dean has triggers, Dean is nineteen, Flirting, Flirting by Text, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gentle Kissing, Gentle Sex, I have no shame, Into the Woods - Freeform, Jo is older than Dean, Jody is a BAMF, M/M, Mechanic Dean, Oral Sex, POV Alternating, Past Alistair/Dean Winchester, Past Sexual Abuse, Past Sexual Assault, Phone Sex, Slow Burn, Tattooed Dean, Tattooed Jo, Teenage Sam, Topping from the Bottom, Writer Castiel, bobby is awesome, just roll me in the trash already, non-graphic sexual assault enacted as part of a play, sam is fifteen, teenage dean
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-06
Updated: 2015-07-25
Packaged: 2018-03-29 05:52:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 56,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3884851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sysrae/pseuds/sysrae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Community Theatre AU where Dean gets roped into taking Sam to audition for a modern interpretation of Into the Woods, and ends up being cast as Little Red Riding Hood opposite Castiel as the Wolf.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The problem is, Dean's a sucker.

Not in general, mind you: just when it comes to his little brother. Sammy has this pleading face that makes him look like a goddamn Labrador puppy, and no matter how much trouble it means, Dean would have to be some kind of monster to remain wholly unaffected. The rest of the time, though, he's got an infallible spider sense for incipient bullshit, and he knows better now than to ignore it.

(Incipient is a prep school word; as, for that matter, is infallible. Dean might've gotten himself kicked out of Garrison Academy, but not before he wasted a week of his life studying for the verbal portion of the SATs he never ended up taking. His life is fucking ironic.)

The point being, if anyone else in the world had asked him to voluntarily set foot inside a community theatre, Dean would've told them to fuck right off, and doubly so if the request involved the words _musical_ and _audition_. But then Sammy used the Face, and made wheedling noises about wanting to rack up some more extracurriculars over the summer holidays – because all the academic genes clearly skipped Dean and went straight to Sam, Jesus _Christ,_ what kind of functional fifteen year old _says_ stuff like that? _–_ and here they are, sitting in cheap plastic theatre seats and waiting for the director to call Sam's name.

'What's this stupid thing meant to be about, anyway?' Dean asks, eyeing the stage like a scorpion nest. So far, they've sat through three middle-aged women trying and failing to sing, one man in his forties stubbornly insisting he be allowed to audition for a part that's already taken, and two teenage boys who seemed okayish, but nothing to write home about, none of which has helped him come any closer to understanding the plot.

For once, Sam's too excited to roll his eyes. ' _Into the Woods_ is a fairytale mashup,' he says, smoothing out his copy of the script. 'You know, Red Riding Hood, Cinderella, Rapunzel, only all in the one big story. But the director, Gabriel, he's trying to do a modern interpretation, like kind of a magical realism thing, so there's still princes and spells and stuff, but the characters live in the city instead of the forest, and the Wolf is a sex criminal –'

'Charming,' Dean mutters.

'– and most of the roles are already cast, but Josie says I'd make an awesome Jack, and –'

' _Josie_ says?'

Sam jumps in his seat, his cheeks flushing bright red. A delighted grin spreads across Dean's face.

'Sammy!' he crows. 'You're doing this for a _girl_? You should've said!'

'Shut _up_!' Sam hisses, smacking Dean's shoulder. 'She might hear you!'

'She's _here_?' Dean sits upright, swivelling to look around the auditorium. He spied a few teenage girls on the way in, though they all looked a little older than Sam – unless, of course, that's part of the appeal...

' _Dean_!' Sam pleads, and yanks hard on the sleeve of his hoodie, pulling him off-balance.

Dean just laughs, easing back into his customary slouch. 'Hey, I get it, it's cool. I'm not gonna be a jerk about it; I just wanna make sure she's good enough for you.'

Sam wilts, a mixture of relief and embarrassment coming off him in waves. 'You'd like her,' he says, head ducked. 'She's really nice.'

'She must be, if you're willing to do community theatre for her,' says Dean. 'So, what – she's already involved, and you wanted an excuse for the two of you to hang out all summer?'

'Something like that,' Sam mumbles. 'She's playing Rapunzel.'

Dean grins, elbowing him gently in the ribs. 'And do, uh, Jack and Rapunzel get to kiss?'

Sam turns scarlet. 'No!' he says, just a little too loudly. In a more normal voice, he says, 'Rapunzel marries a prince, but a giant kills her in the second act, and then at the end, Jack helps to kill the giant.'

'Oh. Well, that's good, too,' says Dean, and gives him an encouraging clap on the shoulder. 'Look, Sammy, for what it's worth, you're gonna do great. They'd be nuts not to give you the part, okay? But even if they don't, you could still help out backstage, do the, uh. The tech stuff. Hang out with her that way.'

Sam lights up. 'Yeah!' he says. 'Yeah, I could!'

'All right!' yells the director, forestalling Dean's reply. He's up on stage, a script in one hand and a Starbucks in the other, which is just cliché enough that Dean has to smother a laugh. 'Let's have Sam Winchester up here, auditioning for Jack. Sam?'

Sam leaps up like a rabbit, scrambling in his hurry to get to the stage. The director – Gabriel, that's his name – waves him over, and Dean, who can't resist the opportunity, yells out, 'Knock 'em dead, Sammy!'

Sam yelps and trips up the last two steps, blushing furiously.

'Seems like you've got a fan!' says Gabriel, not unkindly, and turns to scan the audience for the culprit. His eyebrows shoot up as his gaze lands on Dean, but after a moment, the surprised expression turns more cunning. 'Who's your friend, Sam?'

'That's my _brother_ ,' Sam says, somewhat resentfully.

'Brother, huh?' Gabriel taps the script to his lips. 'Does he have a name?'

'Dean,' says Sam, an evil gleam creeping in his eyes, and oh, Dean does _not_ like where this is going. 'And he _loves_ musicals.'

'Great!' says Gabriel. 'Hey, Dean! You wanna come read opposite Sam here? We don't have anyone for Red Riding Hood yet, and you kind of look the part.'

'I – what?' says Dean, then realises he's wearing an old red hoodie. 'Oh. Um.' He glances around the theatre, desperate for an excuse to just _not_ , but Gabriel has a look in his eye like he won't be gainsaid, and the other actors and would-be actors are all waiting for him to get this show on the road, and if Sammy can't start without him –

'Guess I could,' Dean mutters, and gets up out of the seat. The back of his neck burns hot as he walks down the centre aisle of the theatre, trying to avoid eye contact with the twenty-odd people milling about. Climbing the steps to the stage makes him feel even more exposed, as does the frankly appraising way that Gabriel looks him over.

'Now _there's_ a thought,' the director murmurs, seemingly to himself. He hands Dean his own copy of the script, tapping the lines marked LRRH, for Little Red Riding Hood. 'This is you,' he says. 'Reckon you can manage a cold read?'

'No problem,' says Dean, retreating into cockiness as a defence mechanism, though he doesn't fool Sammy, who smirks victoriously at him. 'Where do we start from?'

'Here,' says Gabriel, indicating a spot midway down the page. 'All right! You two good to go?'

'Yeah!' says Sam, earning himself a directorial wink of approval.

'Allrighty then! Have at it, boys!'

And with that, Gabriel retreats to the side, leaving Dean and Sam alone on centre stage. Dean gulps, thumbing nervously at the script, and hopes he doesn't embarrass himself too badly.

'Hey, nice cape!' says Sam-as-Jack, kickstarting the scene.

Dean knows nothing about the plot, the script or the character, and so takes his inspiration from his own pissed off, confrontational feelings – which, by happy coincidence, seems to fit the dialogue perfectly.

'Get the hell away from me, or I'll cut you!' he snaps back.

'I'm not going to _steal_ it,' Sam-Jack says. 'I just wanna know where you got it.'

'Took it from a dead wolf,' Dean-Red replies. Shit, he's kind of enjoying this. 'Which is why I need the knife.'

'That's cool, I guess. But _I've_ got a golden egg.'

Dean snorts. 'Where'd you get a thing like that?'

Sam-Jack starts explaining about giants, which information Dean-Red rightly greets with scepticism, and the scene ends when Sam-Jack runs away to try and prove his point. Gabriel applauds – he's apparently put down the coffee cup – and Dean's surprised to realise he isn't the only one clapping; he feels kind of shaky, but he's smiling, too, and Sam is beaming at him like they just won the lottery together.

'Hot _damn_!' says Gabriel. 'I think we might really have something here, boys. But before I get ahead of myself – can either of you sing? It's a musical, after all, and even community theatres have standards.'

Dean opens his mouth to protest – he's just here to help out Sammy, not to audition himself – but once again, his brother's goddamn puppy eyes get the better of him, and what comes out instead is, 'I, uh. I don't know the score.'

'Then sing something else!' says Gabriel, whose enthusiasm is apparently undimmed. 'If I cast you, we'd have to change Red's songs to fit your register anyway – I just need to hear if you can carry a tune.' And then, in a failed attempt at _sotto voce_ , 'Lord knows, none of the women could.'

'I'll go first,' says Sam – his only merciful act since helping coerce Dean on stage – and at Gabriel's assenting nod, he launches straight into what Dean assumes is a song from the musical, being as how it's all about giants in the sky. Sam has a strong, clean voice, and Gabriel's face lights up with pleasure. He hears the whole thing out, then bursts into applause which, once again, is echoed by the theatre's other occupants.

'Now _that's_ what I'm talking about!' says Gabriel, slapping an excited Sam on the back. 'Part's yours if you want it, kid. We only had two other guys try out, and neither of them was half as good as you.'

'Awesome!' says Sam, grinning hugely. 'You've still gotta hear Dean sing, though – he's great!'

Now it's Dean's turn to blush. 'Aw, Sammy, I am not.' He shuffles his feet, pride in his brother warring with his own nerves. These days, the only time he ever sings outside the car or the shower is at karaoke, and when that happens, he's usually drunk. He flicks Gabriel what he hopes comes off as a lower-your-expectations look rather than flat anxiety. 'He's biased.'

Sam makes a face. 'Dean, I swear to god –'

'All right, all right!' He runs a hand down his face, dredges up something from his mental catalogue of memorised songs, and hopes like hell there's nobody here he knows. 'Uh, so, this is Angeles,' he says, and shuts his eyes as he starts to sing, the better to pretend he's all alone.

He's pretty much expecting to get cut off right away, but Gabriel doesn't say a word, and he's too self-conscious to look and see why, so he just keeps going right to the end, his hands shaking as he finishes the final verse.

There's a moment of absolute silence, and Dean cringes, finally opening his eyes. 'Sorry, I'm not –'

He's cut off by a burst of what can only be described as _cheering_ , loud and enthusiastic and incredibly shocking, given that it's directed at _him_. Gabriel's mouth is hanging open, and Sam is looking at him with an expression that's perilously close to awe, given that he was the one bigging Dean up a minute ago.

'I didn't know you could sing like _that_!' Sam exclaims, as though he can read Dean's mind. 'That was amazing!'

'How was that any different to how I normally sing?'

But Sam doesn't get a chance to answer; Gabriel leaps in first. 'Please say you'll take the part,' he says. 'I think we can do something incredible here – we'll obviously have to talk blocking and boundaries, what you're comfortable with –'

'Isn't Red Riding Hood meant to be a girl?' Dean asks, bewildered and flushed and a dozen other things. 'I mean, I don't really know the play, but I would've thought –'

'Trust me,' says Gabriel, grinning from ear to ear, 'we'll make it work.'

Dean hesitates. He's still not convinced he'll be any good at this, and it's not like he doesn't have his own plans for the summer, but being cheered was kind of a rush, and with Sammy here, too, it's not like he'll be stuck with a bunch of strangers –

'Aw, hell,' he mutters, rubbing his arm. 'I might as well give it a try.'

Like he said. He's a sucker.

 


	2. Chapter 2

'You did _what_?' exclaims Castiel, certain he must have misheard.

'I cast a teenage boy as Red Riding Hood,' says Gabriel, smugly sipping his beer. 'He's pretty hot, too, if you're into twinks, which I know you are. _You're welcome_.'

Cas stares at him, appalled. 'A _teenager_? Are you _trying_ to get us arrested?'

'Oh, give me some credit – he's nineteen, I checked. That's legal with change to spare. You're golden.'

Castiel groans. 'Oh god, please stop talking.'

'Besides,' says Gabe, utterly remorseless, 'even if he didn't have an amazing voice – and you should've heard this kid, Cassie, it was unbelievable – he's got the perfect look for it. I mean, the Wolf's song has always been the most overtly sexual thing in the whole play, and making Red a rent boy? _Way_ more subversively modern than the whole teen-girl-gets-seduced thing.'

'Artistically, I concede the point,' says Cas. 'Realistically, we had a fucking agreement!'

'Agreement?' Gabe blinks. 'What agreement?'

'That you'd stop trying to set me up with deeply inappropriate strangers! Or with anyone at all, for that matter! I'm twenty-nine and happily single, you don't have to treat me like a charity case –'

'Who said anything about setting you up?'

'You just told me he was a hot twink!'

'That doesn't mean I want you to date him!' Gabriel says, exasperated.

'Really,' Cas says, flatly. 'What _does_ it mean, then?'

'That you get to manhandle someone pretty! Jeez, would you lighten up? You're acting like I just Grinched your Christmas.'

Cas turns his eyes heavenwards in a silent plea for patience. 'Gabriel. You're my brother and I love you, but you've got all the depth and subtlety of a cheese slice. Just think about it, would you? Think about what my character does to his character – who is, you've said, being played by an actual teenage boy – and then explain to me why my finding any sort of sexual or aesthetic pleasure in the scenario wouldn't be both disturbing and deeply inappropriate.'

His brother's face undergoes a comically rapid shift from outraged to penitent. 'Oh,' he says, meekly. 'Shit. Right.'

'Exactly.'

'Still, though,' says Gabriel, after a moment. 'He's a good kid. Total newbie. Nothing wrong with you showing him the ropes, right? In a totally age-appropriate, friendly mentor sort of way.'

'I suppose not,' Castiel grudges.

'Great! Then we're all settled.'

'We're not –'

'Oh, shut up and drink your beer,' says Gabriel, throwing a peanut at him. 'For tomorrow, we deal with actors.'

Castiel sighs a long-suffering sigh, then shuts up and drinks his beer – for tomorrow, he deals with his brother being a directorial pain in the ass.

 

*

 

Dean lies in bed and stares at the ceiling, heart rabbiting in his chest. He just finished going through the script, and even though _the scene_ happens fairly early on – long enough ago that he'd calmed down while reading the rest of it – thinking about it again has him shaking all over. Christ, he should've known; Sam told him up front how they were playing the Wolf, and it's not like he's never heard the Red Riding Hood story, but he'd been so caught up in the moment that he hadn't put two and two together, even when Gabriel started talking _comfort levels_ and _urban interpretation_ and _nothing without your say-so_. Shit, denial's worked pretty well for him so far; maybe his stupid brain was just trying to protect him. But now that he's seen it all laid out in black and white print, there's no escaping the reality of what he's just signed up for.

Which is to play a character who is first seduced, then sexually assaulted by, a charismatic older man, and that –

That hits a little too close to home for comfort.

Here's the bald truth: Dean's life has sucked more often than it hasn't, and given that Sam is four years younger than him, there's a certain amount of bad that Dean's been able to shield him from. Not the stuff that involved their dad being a mean drunk – what with the years of blatant alcoholism prior to his dying spectacularly in a drunken car crash when Sam was twelve, it was kind of hard to hide – but... other things, things that were Dean-specific, he's pretty much kept to himself. The upside to their being taken in by Uncle Bobby is that his little brother, overwhelmed with gratitude at the fact that they weren't split up and sent into separate foster homes, tends to trust him implicitly about the big stuff. The downside is that adults in positions of authority get nervous if he presents as anything other than absolutely capable and trauma-free, because it doesn't matter that Bobby Singer is more of a father to Dean and Sam than John Winchester ever was; they've still got social workers checking up on the family situation, especially since Dean got kicked out of Garrison, and until Sammy turns eighteen and they're properly in the clear, he won't risk upsetting the applecart when nobody wants to listen to his bullshit problems anyway.

He shudders, shoving the thought aside, and tries to think up a logical way to deal with this. Lying to Sammy about why he suddenly wants to quit won't work; the kid was overjoyed at the idea of sharing this with Dean – enough that he even pointed out the girl he likes, Josephine Barnes, aka Josie, from a socially acceptable distance – and there's no lie Dean can tell that won't either hurt him or, more to the point, stop him from trying to change Dean's mind. Which means he has two options: to grit his teeth and go through with it, or tell Sam the truth.

 _It might not be so bad,_ Dean thinks, swallowing heavily. Gabriel seemed serious about the whole nothing-outside-your-comfort-zone shtick; maybe he could make it work for him, use it as a kind of therapy, like confronting his demons or whatever. But that's going to depend a lot on the guy playing the Wolf, who is, at this point, a complete and utter stranger. Because if he's creepy – if he reminds Dean of Alistair – then no way in hell is Dean going to make it through. And yet, the very realisation makes him determined to try, because that sonofabitch already messed him up once, he shouldn't get to do it again by proxy.

The more he thinks about it, the sicker and angrier he feels. It's just a fucking _play_ , the Wolf isn't really going to hurt him, he can tap out whenever he wants, nobody has to know how damaged he is –

 _But Sam should_ , part of him whispers. _You're doing this for him, so Sam deserves to know. Just tell him. Just tell one person._

But it won't be _just Sam_ , that's the problem. Because if Dean tells his little brother why he really got kicked out of school, then Sam's going to want to do something about it; he's going to be _furious,_ and that means he'll want to tell Bobby, who'll want to go to the police in turn, and there's a whole list of reasons why that can't happen, beginning and ending with the fact that the goddamn school already picked a side – spoiler alert: it wasn't Dean's – and if it comes down to taking his word over Alistair Sharp's, then he already knows who the cops are going to believe.

But if he tells Sam something else instead – something true, but not the whole truth – then maybe he can make it work.

Five minutes later, Dean pads down the hall and knocks on Sam's bedroom door.

'Come in!' comes the prompt reply.

Dean pokes his head in, smiling at the sight of Sam sitting up in bed, his laptop balanced precariously on his knees. 'You got a minute?'

'Sure!' says Sam. 'I was just looking up videos of other productions of  _Into the Woods_ . I don't think there's ever been a version that's anything like what Gabe has planned, which is kinda cool.'

'Oh, so he's Gabe now?' Dean teases, ignoring the twist in his stomach.

'Shut up, he's a cool guy.' Sam puts the laptop down, moving his feet so Dean can sit on the mattress. 'What did you wanna talk about?'

Dean shrugs. 'Just, you know. The whole play thing, I kinda – it's not really in my wheelhouse, and, you know, now that I've had a chance to read the script –'

Sam's face falls. 'You're backing out?'

'No, no!' says Dean, though part of him wants nothing more than to do exactly that. 'No, I just – I'm nervous, okay? Like,  _really_ nervous. About the whole... you know. The Wolf thing.'

A look of understanding flashes across Sam's face. 'Dean, it's all right,' he says, earnestly. 'I've known for ages you like guys as well as girls, it's not an issue –'

'You  _what_ ?' 

'You're bisexual,' Sam says, simply. 'Right? You like men and women?' 

'I – that's – I mean, yeah, but that's not what I – what I –  _how_ ?' he finishes, gulping the word. 'I mean, do I give off a vibe or something? Can you just tell?'  _Please god,_ Dean thinks fervently,  _tell me he's never seen me hooking up with someone._ He's always tried to be discreet, the few times he's gone out with guys, but Sam is pretty smart, he could've noticed something, overheard Dean on the phone – 

Instead, his brother's ears go red. 'I found your, uh. Your porn folder.'

Dean's so obscurely relieved, he forgets to be embarrassed. 'What the hell were you doing, poking around on my computer? That's private!'

'I was looking for photos!' Sam says, defensively. 'You got all the old ones digitised, but I couldn't find the CD, and I needed them for a class project and I figured it was easier than asking you, so I just –'

'Yeah, yeah, I get it.' Dean puts a hand over his face. 'Just... whatever. It is what it is.' He takes a deep breath, then forces himself to look at Sam. 'But it's, uh. It's good to know, that you don't... that it's not a problem.' Which is true, and strangely comforting.

Sam snorts. 'Dude, it's 2015. I'm not a total caveman.'

Dean cracks a smile at that. 'True. You're more of a moose-in-training.'

'Am not!' Sam says, ducking Dean's attempt to ruffle his hair. 'Hey, quit it!'

'Just checking for antlers, Sammy.'

Sam pulls a face, retreating behind the fortress of his raised knees. He's already a half-inch taller than Dean, who isn't exactly short; god knows what his full adult height will be. Something monstrous, probably, even without any horns. 'So,' he says, when Dean makes no further encroachments on his hair, 'it's not the bi thing you're worried about? I mean, I'd understand if you're not ready to come out, but it's just a play; nobody's going to think you're gay or whatever just because you kiss a dude on stage.'

_Some people will,_ Dean wants to say, but as tempting as it is to lay the blame on his sexuality – and he's not gonna lie; that's definitely part of it, too, though it pales into insignificance beside the other thing – he can't quite bring himself to do it.

'Not exactly,' he hedges. 'It's just... what they're asking, it's kind of full-on, you know? I mean, if it was just a romance or whatever, that would be one thing, but it's not. It's, I mean –'  _say it, say it like it's a thing you say all the time, don't stutter, don't flinch,_ '– it's attempted rape.' 

Sam's expression turns serious at that; Dean fights a visceral urge to flee. 'I know,' Sam says, 'but Gabe's a good guy, he's not going to make you do anything you're not a hundred percent comfortable with.' He hesitates, then adds, 'If it helps, a lot of productions have that bit happen behind a screen – like a shadow-play, you know?'

Dean perks up a bit. 'Really?'

'Yeah, because it's – well, it's usually the Wolf eating Red Riding Hood, and it's not like you can just CGI that into a stage show, so the directors have to get creative. So if you really didn't want to be, um, physical at all, it's not like there wouldn't be options for getting around it.'

Something tense unknots in Dean's shoulders. 'Thanks, Sammy. That – that helps a lot, actually.' He stares at the floor, fingers twisting together. 'I just, you know. I don't want to let you down, and if I freak out during rehearsal –'

'Dean.' Sam smiles at him. 'You've never let me down. If you freak out, we'll deal with it, but it's not going to make me mad or whatever. Okay?'

Somehow, impossibly, Dean manages to smile back at him. 'Okay,' he says, and stretches up again. 'Good talk, I guess. See you in the morning.'

'You, too,' says Sam, and goes straight back to nerding it up on YouTube.

Back in his room, Dean lies down and concentrates on his breathing, deep and slow and even.  _No big deal_ , he tells himself.  _It's just a play. It's under control. I can do this._

By the time he falls asleep, he almost believes it.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Fifteen minutes into the first cast meeting, Castiel has a minor personal crisis. The problem isn't that Gabriel pre-emptively described Dean Winchester as a hot twink, thereby putting both the phrase itself and certain attendant expectations into Cas's head; it's that, even without Gabe's commentary, he would've thought the exact same thing on his own, because Dean is more than merely _hot_ – he's _beautiful_.

Despite his brother's thoughts on the matter, Cas doesn't have a special preference for young, pretty men, although he's certainly not averse to them, either; Dean Winchester being a case in point. But he doesn't enjoy naivety in his partners, and whatever dominant tendencies he might sometimes have in the bedroom, he doesn't get off on the idea of an actual power imbalance; is actively repulsed by it, in fact. What _does_ attract him, regardless of a person's age, is their energy, vitality: an ephemeral but wholly unmistakeable quality that Cas is sometimes tempted to call an aura, though without the New Age implications – and whatever it is, Dean Winchester has it in spades.

Combined with clean, lithe musculature, bright green eyes and a mouth that's downright obscene, the effect is to transform Castiel Novak – an otherwise articulate, sensible man in his late twenties – into a gormless, staring ape. Gabriel is still introducing the rest of the cast, doing his usual first-day pep talk, but Cas has tuned him out entirely; he keeps sneaking glances at Dean, who's sitting with his younger brother, all while running a frantic inner monologue that vacillates every few seconds between self-castigation and outright pornography.

It doesn't help that Cas hasn't gotten laid in the past eight months. His goddamn libido was already on a hair-trigger; subjecting it to the mere _possibility_ of someone like Dean is just cruel and unusual punishment.

'Right!' says Gabriel, clapping his hands. The sudden sound jerks Castiel back to the moment; he jolts in his chair, hands twitching guiltily. 'Now, it's a long play, and I'm going to be doing some smaller and individual sessions with some of you over the next few days to figure out how best to perform and arrange the songs, but right now, I want to focus on getting a feel for the first act. Some of you are going to be working more closely together than others –' Cas tries very hard not to look at Dean, '– and I'd like you to take this opportunity to run a few lines, talk through any ideas you have about your scenes and characters – just generally get a feel for how you'll play off one another.

'So, to start with, I want the Baker and the Baker's Wife together, obviously –' Victor Henriksen and Bela Talbott look around for each other; Bela's a regular in Gabe's productions, though Victor's a newcomer, '– Jack and his mother over here –' Sam Winchester stands up, as does Jody Mills, who's representing the local Sheriff's department, '– and, let me see, Cinderella, you go with Florinda, Lucinda and your Stepmother –' Cassie Robinson grins, moving to sit with Becky Rosen, Amelia Richardson and a red-haired woman Castiel thinks is called Abbie Sands, '– the Witch, hmm; you've got scenes with everyone, but your big early number's with Rapunzel, so you two stick together –' Rowena MacLeod grins and beckons to Josephine Barnes, who shyly joins her, '– and Little Red Riding Hood, the same goes for you and the Wolf, of course –'

Castiel freezes, swallowing as Dean turns to look at him. Green eyes widen slightly, like Cas's very existence has caught him by surprise, and then he grins, exuding cocky energy as he strolls across the theatre, which is just as well, because Cas isn't sure he remembers how to move. The rest of Gabriel's instructions fade into so much background noise as Dean extends his hand.

'You're Cas, right? Gabriel's brother?'

'That's me,' says Castiel, who – miracle of miracles! – is apparently capable of both speech _and_ basic motor functions after all. He shakes Dean's hand, smiling in what he hopes is a pleasant and not at all creepy way, and tries not to hold his breath as the other man sits down, an empty seat between them.

'So, uh.' Dean splays one arm along the back of the spare chair, a faint blush on his cheeks. Up close, Cas can see a dusting of freckles across the bridge of his nose, the dark gold-brown of his hair intermittently threaded with lighter, sunbleached blonde. It's just long enough to pull, and Castiel forcibly banishes the thought as soon as he's had it, because _no_ , he will not be _That Guy_. 'You do a lot of this theatre stuff, or what?'

'A little,' says Cas, fighting off a self-conscious urge to play with the hem of his shirt. 'It's a fun change of pace, and it keeps Gabriel from pestering me too much about turning into a hermit.'

Dean smiles at that, gaze flicking fondly towards Sam, who's laughing enthusiastically with Jody. 'Brothers, huh? Mine roped me into this, too. I was gonna spend the summer rebuilding cars, but it's not like my uncle can't get by without me.'

'You work for your uncle?'

'Work for and live with,' Dean says – but though this titbit of information sparks Cas's curiosity, Dean doesn't extrapolate, and Cas doesn't press.

Instead, he offers up something about himself. 'I write for a living,' he says, the inner ghost of his former nerdy child-self wincing at making such an admission to a man with demonstrably more masculine interests. Never mind that Dean is ten years younger than him, while Castiel himself is well past the age of adhering to reductive, teenage definitions of coolness: some reflexes, it seems, go deeper than common sense.

Far from being scornful, however, Dean looks impressed. 'What, like novels and stuff?'

'A little,' Cas admits. 'On the fiction front, I've only had a few short stories published, though I am working on a book. Mostly, though, I write articles, reviews – that sort of thing.'

'Sounds like a good gig.'

Cas smiles. 'I think so, too.'

Dean smiles back, the expression unfairly stunning – and then, at no signal Castiel can determine, it fades again, his shoulders rounding as he drops his gaze. 'So, uh,' he says, and it's almost a physical thing, the way his energy has suddenly withdrawn, 'with the, um. The – the assault scene, when we – when we have to, uh. Block it, or choreograph it, or whatever. Do you think we could do that privately with Gabriel, first? Just, you know, go over it together without an audience?'

'Of course,' says Castiel, heart inexplicably sinking. Just because he finds Dean wildly attractive doesn't mean the feeling is returned, and he's clearly never acted before. It's perfectly understandable that a young, straight man might feel some level of embarrassment or apprehension about performing such a scene with a virtual stranger; hell, most experienced actors Castiel knows, whatever their orientation, would likely be nervous, too, given the subject matter. It's a jarring reminder that theirs is arguably the most violent, disturbing encounter in the whole show, and for a moment, he's blindly furious with Gabriel for forgetting that fact just long enough to taunt him with something they both know he can't and shouldn't have, however much he might want it. 'Would you be free tomorrow, say around three?'

'Yeah,' says Dean, who sounds both shaky and relieved. 'Yeah, three's perfect. Thanks, Cas.' And he smiles again, albeit more faintly than before.

'Right,' says Castiel. 'Well, I'll let Gabriel know. In the mean time, would you like to run lines?'

'Sure,' says Dean. 'Just lemme grab my script.' And he gets up to do just that, leaving Cas to wrestle with the high road of not watching his ass, which endeavour lasts all of two seconds before he tumbles headfirst into the canyon of moral turpitude. _Bowlegs,_ he thinks dimly. _Merciful Christ,_ _it's not_ fair.

'Having fun, brother dearest?' Gabriel asks, wandering up and aiming a pointed smirk in Dean's direction.

Cas makes a pained noise. 'I'm going to hell.'

Gabriel pats his shoulder. 'Don't worry, Cassie. I'll be sure to save you a seat.'


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slight trigger warning explained in the endnotes.

'You're quiet tonight,' says Bobby, eyeing Dean over his beer. 'The way Sam's been goin' on, I figured you'd have all sorts to say about your theatre meetin'.'

'It was okay,' says Dean, poking listlessly at his mac n' cheese. He can't meet Bobby's eyes, and if his uncle's sigh is anything to go by, Bobby knows it means nothing good.

'Y'know, Dean,' he says, carefully conversational, 'even if it turns out that acting ain't for you, I'll still be proud that you gave it a shot. You're a smart kid; you oughta try your hand at whatever comes up.'

Dean can't help it; he snorts. 'Sam's the smart one, Bobby. You know that.'

'Boy,' Bobby says, a warning tone in his voice, 'don't you start that self-defeatin' bullcrap with me. You were bright enough to get that prep school scholarship –'

'– and dumb enough to lose it again,' Dean snaps, slamming his fork down onto the table. 'All right? Me getting into Garrison was a goddamn fluke, and I wish like hell it'd never happened.'

And before Bobby can respond, he storms away from the table, shoving past a surprised-looking Sam as he heads out into the lot between the house and Singer Auto Repair.

There's an itch in his skin that's been there for hours, ever since he first shook hands with Castiel Novak. He'd been expecting a sleazier, less interesting version of Gabriel: a grinning douchebag in slacks and a scarf who looked skeevy enough to fit the part, but who wasn't so repulsive that Dean couldn't bear to touch him. A happy medium between what the Wolf should represent, and what someone like Alistair actually _was_.

Instead, he got the single hottest man he's ever seen in real life, and on top of that, he had to go and be kind and funny and _interesting_ , with his warm, rough voice and his writing career and his stupid endearing head-tilt. It was so out of left field – so contrary to everything Dean had braced himself to deal with – that it wasn't until he left the theatre with Sammy that he realised the full extent of how fucked he was, and even hours later, he can't decide if finding Cas attractive makes the whole thing better, or infinitely worse. Because, pro, he'll actually get to kiss the guy, and no way is Dean's sex drive about to count that a negative – especially not when one of the theatre techs, Charlie, let slip that Castiel is gay – but, con, he'll also have to pretend that Cas is a predator bent on hurting him, and far more horrifying than the prospect that it might turn him off altogether is the idea that it _won't_.

_Don't pretend you didn't enjoy yourself, Dean. We both know what you like._

Reaching the fence at the edge of the lot, Dean grips the wire and _squeezes,_ desperately trying to fight off tears he neither wants nor needs. Crying doesn't solve anything, and even if he sometimes feels a little better afterwards, it's never a big enough improvement to compensate for having to hide his face. No way can he go back in the house with red eyes and wet cheeks without a plausible explanation: Bobby and Sam are going to be all over him as it is.

Belatedly, he feels a sting and jerks back from the fence. He hasn't cut his palms, but it's a near thing: sharp wire tips have dug into his skin, leaving behind a series of white-red divots that throb in time with his pulse. He stares at them, then shakily lowers his hands, hating that this has somehow become his fucking life; hating that he ever thought that things might turn out differently for him. It doesn't matter what Bobby thinks or what things Dean tries, he's always going to be a semi-closeted fuckup with daddy issues and a claustrophobic inability to deal with them in a way that doesn't invariably make things worse.

Like hoping he's broken enough one way that he won't want Cas to touch him, because being broken the other way means that maybe, Alistair was right.

'Dean?' calls Sam, his voice thin and hesitant.

Dean stills, fingertips touching his eyes to make sure they're dry before he turns around. 'Yeah, Sammy?'

'Are you okay?'

He tries to force a smile. 'Yeah, I'm fine. I just – I just hate talking about Garrison, you know? Sucks. But I shouldn't have snapped at Bobby.'

Sam nods, glancing at him from under his floppy fringe. 'He's not angry, I don't think. Just sort of –'

'– disappointed,' says Dean, sighing. 'Yeah, I know. Dick move on my part. I'll go apologise, okay?'

'Okay,' says Sam.

Dean nods, hands shoved in his pockets as he walks back toward the house. He's just drawn level with Sam when his brother reaches out and grabs his arm, stopping him.

'Dean?'

'Yeah?'

'I'm really – I'm really glad you're doing the play.' Sam gulps, smiling nervously. 'I mean, I know you only went to the auditions for me, and I know you're nervous about the acting stuff and the bi stuff and all, but you've still got that meeting with Cas and Gabe tomorrow, you know? And I just, I wanted to say... I really hope you have a good time. '

Dean's throat goes painfully tight. 'Me too, Sammy,' he says. 'Me, too.'

 

*

 

That night, for the first time in almost a year and a half, Cas goes out with the express purpose of getting laid. Casual hookups have never been his thing – he prefers sex with people he actually knows and cares about – but if he's going to spend the next however many weeks of his life in close proximity to Dean Winchester, then it's not fair to impose the burden of his raging sexual frustration on someone who manifestly neither needs nor deserves it; and that means he needs to have sex tonight. Just get it out of his system.

There's a gay bar on Elgin Street he's been to before with Gabriel that wasn't completely awful, so at nine PM, he showers, puts on his slightly too-tight jeans and the dark blue shirt his brother brought him for Christmas, checks the expiration date on the condoms and lube he shoves in his back pocket – and god, it's depressing to think he's been celibate long enough to merit the precaution – and gets a cab straight there. The music is loud, and Castiel hugs the bar, ordering two shots of bourbon to get himself going. They burn going down, and he's contemplating a third when someone taps him on the shoulder.

'Drinking alone?' the guy asks, coyly. He's maybe five years younger than Cas, inoffensively blonde-haired and brown-eyed, tanned but not freckled, dressed in jeans and a pale blue shirt. He's just close enough to what Cas actually wants without being a cheap copy that he doesn't hesitate, and two more shots, twenty minutes of conversation and some experimental kissing later, and he's letting the guy – named Jack, he thinks, or something like that – lead him back outside to the cab rank. Which is, he admits, a classier turn of events than he'd been counting on; the last time Cas did something like this, which was admittedly years ago, he ended up getting blown in a bathroom stall.

'Come back to mine?' Jack asks, grinning as he tugs Cas in by the belt-loops.

'Sure,' he says, and kisses Jack to shut him up as they get into the cab.

Jack's flat is modern and clean and expensive-looking, which probably has something to do with whatever well-paying financial job he apparently has; Cas wasn't really listening, and he sure as hell doesn't care. They make it to the bedroom with only minor awkwardness, and when Jack leans in and murmurs, 'I'm going to blow you, then fuck you. That cool?', it's almost a relief to realise he's not being offered a preference. Cas doesn't want to think about any of this; he just wants to get off and go home before his buzz fades, and so he passively goes along with what Jack wants, grunting at what little pleasure exists to be had in his rushed, sloppy blowjob, then letting himself be manhandled face-down on the bed, which suits him fine, because it means no eye contact.

Jack preps him decently, and it's not like Cas's body doesn't enjoy itself – he stays hard while the other man fucks him, though the repeated grunts of 'Yeah, take it,' aren't exactly his thing – but it's not _relief_ , not really; not in the way he wants. He doesn't mean to start thinking about Dean, because _not_ thinking about Dean was kind of the point of the evening, but he's drunk and lonely despite Jack's presence, and the other man's hand on his dick just isn't doing it for him.

So he thinks about Dean, wonders how responsive he'd be under Castiel's touch; imagines kissing him, deep and slow, their bodies moving together until they were so turned on, they could barely breathe –

And that's the thought that makes him come, the orgasm surprising him out of nowhere; which would be a decent end to the night, if not for the fact that it takes Jack another two minutes to come, and by then Cas is feeling anything but relaxed. Mercifully, Jack turns out to be the kind of guy who falls asleep straight after sex; he's barely thrown the condom away before he's passed out on his comforter, and Cas takes advantage of the moment to clean himself up, get dressed and get the hell out, the door clicking shut behind him.

He makes it all the way home before the sense of shame hits him, but when it does, it's like a hammer-blow. He stumbles into his bathroom and showers under a hot spray, both hands braced on the wall as he tries and fails to justify his own actions. It doesn't matter that Jack was apparently on board with an easy hookup; Cas wasn't, not in the way that mattered, and now he just feels cheap and sour and sick at heart, like there's something fundamentally wrong with him. He's considered the possibility that he might be demisexual before now, given his general reluctance to sleep with people he doesn't know, but given that thoughts of Dean were what got him off, he still doesn't think it fits. It's not, he realises suddenly, the length of time he's known someone that matters; it's the sense of connection, of investment, of wanting something real; the desire to take his time and give pleasure as well as receive it, and random hookups, almost by definition, are the opposite of that.

But Dean is someone he already knows he'll see again, even if only platonically; and more than that, he's someone Castiel _wants_ to see again. He's beautiful and vital, his manner cocky and bashful by turns, but for all his self-deprecating apologies about being a first-time actor, his raw talent is undeniable. Dean Winchester is a study in contradictions – fond of his brother, yet dismissive of himself; a quick, clever study, but wary of seeming ignorant; demonstrably confident, yet easily touched by praise – and even after just a few hours spent in his company, Cas is fascinated.

 _And god_ , he thinks, his head on the tiles, _this would be so much easier if I wasn't._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: Cas has drunken sex with a stranger. He never revokes consent, and he actively sought out such an encounter, but he doesn't really want or enjoy it, and afterwards, he feels crappy. Dean also thinks about his past assault, but not in great detail.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning in the endnotes.

'All right!' says Gabriel, dragging a chair from behind the curtain into centre stage. Dean's already seated alongside Castiel, and he's so damn nervous, it's a physical act of will to keep from fidgeting. It doesn't help that Cas looks even better than he did yesterday, his dark hair tousled and wild, like he hasn't even bothered to brush it. Dean wants to remain unaffected, but instead, he feels hyperaware of Cas, unable to keep from darting quick glances at his hands and mouth, and maybe he's imagining it, but he doesn't think Castiel is wholly disinterested in him, either. Sure, he's looking at Cas, but Cas is looking back, and whenever their eyes meet, blue on green, a tiny jolt goes through him, like he's touched an electric fence.

Oblivious to the tension, Gabriel thumps himself down and grins at the pair of them. 'So, Dean, I know you wanted to work on blocking today, but before we get to that, I was hoping we could talk a bit about the music.'

Dean leaps at the distraction. 'Sure,' he says. 'Sammy showed me the singing parts on YouTube this morning –' it was weird, knowing that he'd be playing the same role as a blonde girl with ringlets, '– and I think I can learn it all pretty easily.' In fact, he'd already memorised his part in the opening number, along with his few interjections during the Wolf's big song – which was rather creepily titled _Hello, Little Girl_ , though Dean was guessing they'd change it to boy for him.

Alistair had sometimes called him _boy_.

'And you're fine with it all?' asks Gabe. 'Nothing you think you can't handle, voice-wise?'

'No,' says Dean, swallowing. 'No, I just – '

Gabe looks at him curiously. 'What is it?'

'It doesn't matter.'

'Humour me,' says Gabriel. 'If I didn't want your feedback, Dean, I wouldn't have asked for any.'

Dean sneaks a glance at Castiel, flushing when their gazes meet. He ducks his head, staring at the floor, and says, haltingly, 'It's just, the song I'm meant to sing to the Baker after he – after the scene with the Wolf –'

' _I Know Things Now_?' asks Gabe. 'That one?'

Dean swallows. 'Yeah. I just... I mean, I get how it fits in the original story – it's a funny song, you know?– but what we're doing is different, and I don't think people are gonna feel much like laughing.' _I know I won't._

'That's a really good point,' says Cas, as Gabriel frowns. 'Originally, Red and Granny are swallowed whole, but they both come out unscathed – it's fairy tale logic. But here, the way we've changed it, we're talking a different kind of survival. It's difficult and dark, and the song should reflect that.'

Gabriel grimaces. 'You're right,' he says, running a hand through his hair. 'Shit! I didn't even think of that. The way the lyrics are now, it's basically straight-up victim-blaming.'

'Victim-blaming?' Dean asks. 'What's that?'

Cas blinks at him. 'You haven't heard the term?'

'Should I have?' Dean challenges. It doesn't matter how often it happens; he always hates to feel stupid.

Which, weirdly, Cas seems to understand. 'I'm not trying to criticise you,' he says, gently. 'If nobody's ever mentioned it, there's no reason why you'd innately know.'

'I guess,' says Dean, his hackles lowering. 'Sorry. I just – what _does_ it mean, anyway?'

This time, it's Gabriel who answers. 'It means arguing that the victim of a crime is somehow more responsible for causing it than the criminal. Like, if someone's house was robbed, and the police said it was the owner's fault for not having an alarm system, that would be victim-blaming.'

'Of course,' says Cas, 'it's most often used in reference to rape and sexual assault, rather than just to crimes in general. You know, making arguments like, _oh, she was drunk, she wore a short skirt, she was asking for it_ – blaming the victim for what their assailant did.'

Dean goes cold all over. Stomach churning sickly, he jams his hands between his knees to stop them shaking and says, in the most offhand voice he can muster, 'Is it – do you still call it that, if the, uh, assailant's the one who says it? Or is that something different?'

Cas looks at him oddly. 'No, it's still victim-blaming.'

'But what if –' Dean starts, then snaps his mouth shut, choking back the question. _What if they said you liked it, and part of you did, but you still said no, and they kept going anyway? Are you still a victim, then? Or do they just know you better than you know yourself?_

But of course, he can't ask that, and now both brothers are looking at him, waiting to hear the rest of the sentence. Somehow, he forces himself to shake his head and says, 'So if we just change the lyrics, will that fix it?'

Cas frowns, like he knows that isn't what Dean had meant to say, but it's Gabe who answers. 'Possibly,' he says. 'Though I think we should alter the music, too – change it from being upbeat to something eerier, maybe try it in a minor key. I'll have a play with it and let you know.' He smiles again, warm and sunny. 'But it's a good catch, Deano. Your director thanks you for your service to the cause.'

Dean almost laughs at that, nervousness bleeding into his voice. 'Yeah, well, don't thank me yet. Screwing shit up is kinda my speciality.'

'You'll be fine,' says Gabe. 'Now – you've read the script so far, you've seen my notes about your scene with Cassie here, but like I said yesterday, I don't want you to do anything you're not fully comfortable with. So, as a starting point, would you be willing to try a walk-through of the blocking I had in mind? Whatever doesn't work, we can change.'

'Sure,' Dean says, his mouth going dry. 'Let's do that.'

'Great!' says Gabriel. 'Just let me – oh, crap.' He rolls his eyes. 'I left my notes in the car. Just let me go grab them, I'll be right back!'

As Gabriel hurries off, Cas turns to Dean, a look of concern on his face.

'Hey,' he says, quietly. 'Are you sure you're okay with this?'

Dean forces a smile. 'Sure, yeah. Why wouldn't I be?'

Cas hesitates. 'It's just... I'm aware – I would understand if you felt.... if there was an added degree of awkwardness, given my, uh. My orientation.'

It takes Dean a moment to get it, but when he does, he feels like absolute scum. 'Shit, Cas,' he says, 'no, no, I'm not – I'm not homophobic, I swear, it's not that –'

'Dean, it's really all right –'

'It's _not_!' he shouts, starling Castiel into silence. 'Jesus! If that really was the problem – and I'm telling you that it's not – then it wouldn't be _really all right_ , because I'd be a bigoted asshole, and you'd be the guy who had to work with me anyway. Okay?'

'Okay,' says Cas, though he's clearly still unhappy. 'Dean, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you –'

'Christ.' Dean runs a hand through his hair and takes a shaky breath. Very quietly, he says, 'I'm not straight either, Cas.'

Cas goes still. 'I – what?'

'You heard me.' Dean hugs himself, arms wrapped around his chest. 'I'm bi. Not that I'm really out, or whatever – Sammy knows, plus a few guys that I've, uh... well,you know. But that's it.'

'Oh.'

'Yeah.'

'I'm sorry,' Cas says, after a moment. 'I shouldn't have assumed.'

Dean shrugs. 'It's fine. No big deal.'

Cas shoots him a sharp look. 'If my acceptance of your hypothetical homophobia isn't all right, then your acceptance of my actually making you out yourself certainly isn't.'

'Touché.'

They share a small, tense smile, and Dean's stomach clenches with a potent mix of lust and self-hatred. Castiel is gorgeous and kind, and exactly the sort of person that Dean doesn't deserve. _That's not victim-blaming,_ he thinks. _It's just obvious._

_Isn't it?_

 

*

 

'Miss me?' calls Gabriel, waving his script as he strides back into the theatre.

'Like a severed limb,' Cas deadpans, though inwardly, he can't help wishing his brother had stayed away longer. Even with the source of his discomfort revealed, Dean still looks miserable, and Castiel desperately wants to put him at ease. He doesn't know what Dean's family situation is, but if his sexuality has anything to do with why he lives with his uncle instead of his parents, then it makes sense that he'd be nervous about publicly performing a scene that could easily raise questions he's not ready to answer. It strikes him that Dean must love his younger brother a great deal to have even considered doing this, and something twists in Castiel, because that's two points of connection between them that he hadn't expected to find, and now more than ever, he can't afford to risk alienating Dean.

Cas remembers all too vividly what it's like to be only half-out, uncertain of your identity and your family's reception; and he understands, too, exactly what sort of rejection Dean might be risking. It's why he only has Gabriel, these days; or why, more accurately, the pair of them only have each other.

Setting the thought aside, he concentrates on letting his brother boss him about the stage. In the grand scheme of things, the Wolf is a minor character: he only appears in two scenes, but as both of them are with Dean – and as both involve intimate physical contact – they're going to do them in order.

In the first scene, the opportunistic Wolf encounters Little Red Riding Hood, convincing her to stray from the path before running ahead to Granny's house. In the original version, he simply tempts her to stop and pick flowers, but in Gabriel's interpretation, it's an actual seduction: Red Riding Hood is a rent boy, “Granny” is his pimp – played by a guy named Benny Latiffe, who's also doubling as one of the Princes, making “Granny” into a rich man's underworld alias – and the Wolf is a criminal trying to track him down. As such, there's something predatory and calculated in the Wolf's targeting of Red; instead of flowers, he's offering money, but clearly wooing the boy in a way he isn't used to. (In another of Gabriel's urban twists, Red's basket of sweets contains protection money, sent by the Baker's Wife without her husband's knowledge. Castiel sometimes wonders if his brother shouldn't have been the writer.)

With Cas alternately humming and singing _Hello, Little Boy_ to get a sense of the pacing, he falls into the rhythm of Gabe's direction, and after the first minute or so, Dean loosens up enough to go along with it. They start out physically distant, the Wolf closing in as the song progresses, tempting Red with gentle touches to arm and face, luring him close, until one hand is cupping his cheek, the other on his hip.

'And then you kiss,' says Gabriel. 'With tongue, if you wouldn't mind; the other kind never looks real, and we're not exactly telling an innocent story.'

Dean darts a glance at Gabe. 'Like, now?' he asks, a little breathless, and Cas would be lying if he said his entire body didn't thrill at the prospect.

'Ideally, yes. Unless –' he frowns, as though belatedly remembering Dean's comfort level, '– you'd rather there not be a kiss at all?'

Dean swallows, not quite looking at Cas. 'No, I'm – I can manage that.'

'Well, then.' Gabriel waves a hand, smiling. 'Have at it. Might as well get the first one in without a major audience. Pretend I'm not here.'

Dean nods, finally meeting Cas's gaze. Pulse ticking up sharply, Castiel tilts his head: a silent request for permission. Almost imperceptibly, Dean nods – and then, as gently as he can manage, Cas leans in and fits their mouths together

He means to hold back, let Dean set the pace, but as soon as Dean reciprocates, something in Cas just snaps. He tugs him closer, kissing him deeply, and Dean makes a noise that's half a groan and kisses back, his hands clutching Cas's shirt. His fantasy of the night before comes flooding back, and for a moment, Cas completely forgets that they're acting and loses himself in the kiss, thumb stroking across Dean's cheekbone as they move against each other.

And then his brother coughs – a small, discreet sound – and Cas pulls back, dazedly fighting the urge to trace his thumb across Dean's lower lip.

'Was that okay?' Dean croaks, and though the question's meant for Gabe, his gaze never moves from Cas. They're still holding position, Cas's hands on his cheek and hip, and as Dean doesn't step away, Cas doesn't think to move them.

'Definitely,' says Gabriel, with just a touch of wryness. 'Now, the next bit is slightly tricky, and absolutely up for negotiation. Given a budget to suit my grandeur, I'd have the two of you on a bit of rotating set – you'd hold position, swing out of sight, and when you came back into view, you'd both look suitably debauched. But rotating sets, alas, are rather beyond the means of community theatre, so what I'd actually like –' and here he takes a breath, gaze flickering between them, '– is for Dean to get on his knees and kneel-walk backwards, undoing your belt, until you're both in the wings.'

Dean freezes, and Castiel instantly drops his hands, glaring at his brother. 'Seriously, Gabriel? You couldn't think of anything classier?'

'Cassie,' says Gabe, 'your character is seducing a hooker. _Classy_ isn't the point – but like I said, and will continue to say as often as necessary, it's entirely up to Dean.' He raises an eyebrow in Dean's direction. 'Well?'

For a moment, Dean is silent. He looks between them, clearly weighing his options – and then, his gaze returning to Cas, he gives a nod, steps close again, and sinks to his knees, hands trailing over Cas's chest.

Castiel inhales sharply, staring down at him. From this angle, the fan of Dean's long lashes is hard to miss, and as his fingertips skate across his belt, the effect is about a thousand times sexier than anything Jack did last night.

'Like this?' Dean asks, unbuckling the leather. He does it without looking away, throat bobbing as he swallows (and holy _god_ , there's an image that's going to stay with him). Slowly, he pulls the two ends free, then gives a gentle tug as he starts to move backwards on his knees. Cas goes with him, though it's surprisingly difficult; he keeps wanting to brace his hand on Dean's head, sink his fingers into his hair – both for balance and because this is the single most erotic thing that's happened to him in over a year – and he manages to resist the impulse right up until Dean stops, at which point, it's practically a result of momentum. Dean's eyes widen at the touch, and Cas jerks his hand back instantly.

'Sorry,' he says, quickly. 'Sorry, I didn't mean –'

'It's okay,' says Dean, scrambling to his feet. 'It's, uh – was that right?' he asks, craning his head at Gabriel.

'Spot on,' says Gabe, his eyebrows firmly raised. He looks like he wants to comment, but for all his flaws, he really does take his role as director seriously, and as such, he's forced to swallow whatever salacious remark he might otherwise have offered. 'So, you both exit like that, and Dean, you'll come around to re-enter from back of stage left, hoodie-cloak in hand – we'll hopefully work the timing so we can muss you up a little en route – and that's when you'll meet the Baker. He tries to take your cloak, you think he wants something else, and then you run off again. Change scene.'

The whole time Gabe's been speaking, Castiel has been fiddling with his belt, hands trembling just enough that he's struggled to redo it. Finally, though, he gets the tongue through the loop and straightens, looking between his brother, who's back in his directorial flow, and Dean, who can't quite meet his eyes.

'The Baker and his Wife do their thing,' says Gabriel, 'the second Prince meets Rapunzel – or maybe not; I might still move that bit, depending on how the sets work out – and then we've got the scene at Granny's house.'

Dean goes still at that, though Gabriel, who doesn't see, talks on without pause.

'Cassie, you'll come on with Granny tied up and gagged, then stash him out of sight of the door – we'll block that part later, obviously – so that Dean can't see him when _he_ comes in. Dean, you'll be calling for Granny – there'll be a kitchen table in the middle of the set –' he walks to the curtain, vanishes behind it, and drags out a small desk from wherever he presumably got the chairs, setting it between them, '– and once you draw level with it, the Wolf pounces.'

He steps back, waiting expectantly, and when neither Cas nor Dean moves, he rolls his eyes and waves at the desk. 'Pouncing? Hello?'

'Oh!' says Cas, in the same second Dean says, 'Right!'. They come to stand on opposite sides of the desk, both looking to Gabriel for instruction.

'Okay,' he says, studying them. 'Right, here's what I'm thinking. Cassie, you lunge over and grab Dean's right arm with your right hand – you're going to try and pull him over to your side. When that happens, Dean, you swing at him with your left as you come across, so the two of you will have a bit of a tussle. Nothing too prolonged, but the main thing is that you let the momentum spin you, so that you end up with your back to Cassie's chest. Then Cassie, you grab his other wrist and pin him down over the table, and – well. Let's just try that first and see if it works. Dean?' And then, in a more concerned tone, 'Dean, are you all right?'

'Yeah,' says Dean, but it's clearly a lie; he's visibly pale, his voice shaking. 'Yeah, I can just –I'm fine, let's get it done –'

'We can take a break –'

'I'm _fine_!' Dean snaps. 'C'mon, Cas, grab me.'

Castiel hesitates. 'Are you sure?'

'Just said I was, didn't I?'

'Yes, but –'

'Cassie,' says Gabe, 'we can stop any time. If Dean says go, then go.'

'All right,' says Cas, albeit reluctantly, and tries to let himself slip into character. He gives Dean a moment to steady his breathing, then nods, snarls and lunges, grabbing Dean's right arm and pulling. It's not a hard tug, but Dean yelps and stumbles, his hip banging into the desk. Still, he doesn't call time-out, so when he fetches up against Cas's chest, his free arm moving in mock-attack, Cas stays in character, laughing as he ducks a blow that was never going to land, then spinning Dean with a tug on his arm and a nudge to his hip, until they're flush together. His free hand locks around Dean's left wrist, and he's just pressing forwards, bending at the torso, when Dean bucks violently, shaking his head.

' _No_ ,' he says, and it's half a sob, 'Jesus no fuck, _fuck_ –'

Cas lets go, but not fast enough; Dean wrenches away from him, gasping for air, arms wrapped around his stomach.

'I'm sorry,' he croaks, and Christ, he's actually _crying_ , the tears distorting his voice, 'I'm so fucking sorry, I thought I could but I can't, I _can't_ –'

And before either Cas or Gabe can respond, he spins on his heel and bolts.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: Cas and Dean enact the Wolf assaulting Red Riding Hood, which involves Dean having his arms grabbed and pinned over a desk. This is done consensually, but Dean is triggered and reacts badly, forcing Cas to stop.


	6. Chapter 6

Somehow, Dean makes it to the theatre courtyard before he collapses, one hand braced on the wall as he struggles to breathe. His ears are ringing, bile in his throat; he feels like he's back in Alistair's office, cheek shoved hard to the ink-blotter, one arm twisted behind his back as a big hand pins his shoulder. He's shaking, tears streaming down his cheeks, and god, he's stupid, he was so damn _stupid_ to think he could do this; he should've just lied to Sam, made up a reason why he didn't have time for the play; should never have let himself believe that someone might actually want him –

'Dean?'

It's Cas, of course; who else would it be? 'I'm sorry,' Dean rasps out. 'Cas, just – I'm sorry, it's all my fault, I'm sorry –'

'You've got nothing to apologise for,' says Castiel. He moves closer, crouching down to Dean's level, and when Dean finally looks at him, his face is sharp with concern. 'Dean, can you tell me what went wrong? Did I hurt you?'

Dean chokes out a laugh. 'Not you,' he gasps, 'you didn't – you never laid a hand on me, it was _him_ – I should've – I should've known, I should never –' and then he freezes, mouth snapping shut all too late.

Horrified understanding lights in Castiel's face. 'Oh, Jesus.'

'Don't think he had anything to do with it,' Dean mumbles.

'Shit, I didn't mean –'

'No, I get it.' Dean straightens, bracing himself. 'Go on, then.'

'I'm sorry?'

'Ask me what I did.'

'What you _did_?'

'You know.' His stomach is in knots. 'What I – what I did. To make him think, you know – or to – to stop it – '

'Why would I ask you that?'

'To see if I'm lying.'

Castiel blinks. 'Dean,' he says, 'you don't have to plead your case to me. I believe you. Of course I believe you.'

'What?'

'I believe you,' Cas says again.

Dean stares at him, heart pounding. 'You do?'

'I do.'

'Oh,' says Dean. The tears have stopped, but he's shaking worse than ever. 'Oh.'

Gently, Castiel asks, 'Did someone else not believe you?'

'You could say that,' says Dean. He smiles, the expression sharp and twisted, and Castiel sucks in breath, an appalled look on his face.

' _Nobody_ believed you?'

'You're the first, yeah.'

'Jesus,' says Cas. He sounds physically pained. 'Dean, if I'd known, I would never –'

'Don't.' He looks away, unable to bear it. 'Not your fault.'

'Is there – can I call someone, like your uncle, or –?'

' _No_!' Dean jerks his head up, scared and angry. 'He doesn't – Bobby and Sam don't know, okay? And they sure as hell don't need to. I'll be fine. I _am_ fine.'

'Okay,' says Castiel quickly, 'no calls, I won't – I won't say anything, I promise.' He hesitates. 'But Dean, you're clearly not fine. You need to talk to someone.'

'What I _need_ ,' Dean snaps, 'is not to get shoved over any more desks, by you or anyone else.'

The silence is no less shocking than if he'd fired a shot. Cas goes pale, and Dean feels sick to his core.

'I'm sorry,' he whispers. 'That wasn't fair.'

'Don't apologise,' Cas says, fiercely. 'You've done nothing wrong.'

The truth of the statement hits him, hard and sudden: _Cas believes me._ It's not like he's been walking around this whole time thinking Alistair was blameless; he knows damn well it was rape, that it shouldn't have happened. But he also figured it was mostly his own fault, for letting things get so far out of hand in the first place, and Alistair had said –

 _Victim-blaming_. The realisation stops him cold. _He blamed me for it. He let me blame myself._

'I haven't,' says Dean, then falters, starts again. He looks at Cas, the words sitting tight in his throat, and though he doesn't mean them to, they still come out a question. 'I haven't done anything wrong?'

'You haven't,' Cas says. 'I promise, you haven't.'

Dean remembers kissing Cas; how good it was, and how he felt safe enough afterwards to get on his knees, to trust that he wouldn't be hurt. He thinks about the botched scene: how Cas stepped back the second Dean said no – how even before then, Cas had been constantly checking to make sure he was on board with each new step – and realises, with a visceral flash, that the problem wasn't anything to do with having _Cas_ touch him, but only with the blocking itself, how closely it mirrored what Alistair did.

And Castiel still believes him.

Dean makes a choked-off noise and crumples forwards, his face buried in the crook of Cas's neck. He doesn't cry, but teeters on the edge of it, his breathing harsh as Castiel moves from crouched to kneeling, pulling him into a hug. It's warm and safe and comforting, and after a moment, Dean lets himself return the gesture, clinging to Cas in turn. Part of him wants to apologise, but Cas already told him not to, and there's something powerful in just letting himself be held, as though he has a right to it. He hadn't thought he was starved for touch, but he doesn't want to let go, and as Castiel doesn't move, either, they stay like that, Dean breathing in the clean, sharp scent of him, until everything old and ugly is washed away.

'Cassie? Dean? Are you two – oh!'

It's Gabriel, standing in the courtyard doorway, an expression of surprise on his face. Dean pulls back hurriedly, ducking his head.

'Sorry,' he says, rubbing his cheeks. 'Didn't mean to keep you waiting.'

'It's all right,' says Gabe. He clearly has questions, but politely refrains from asking them. 'Actually, I was thinking we might stop for the day? I've just had a call from one of my techs, he was hoping I'd drop by, have a chat about backdrops. But we could pick this up again in a couple of days, if that suits.'

'Yeah,' says Dean, relieved beyond belief. 'Yeah, that's – that would be great, thanks.'

He stands, and Castiel follows a second later. Together, the three of them exit the theatre – Gabe has the key, and locks up behind them – and when they reach the street, Gabriel gives them each a gentle pat on the shoulder and heads straight to his car, leaving Cas and Dean alone.

Castiel waits a moment, then speaks, his voice low and soft. 'Dean, I'm not – I won't pretend I'm the best person for you to talk to, but if you wanted, I'd be more than willing to listen.'

'Could we, uh – now?' Dean asks. He feels small, somehow, but Castiel doesn't falter; just smiles and nods, setting him at ease.

'Of course,' he says. 'If you felt comfortable, my house isn't far from here, but if you'd prefer we go somewhere else –'

'Your place is good,' says Dean, then instantly blushes, because as fucked up as all this is, there's still a big part of him that wants to go home with Cas for very different reasons. Shit, maybe he even wants it more, now: he _trusts_ Cas – wouldn't be willing to talk to him otherwise – and it makes his pulse quicken, to think of all the things he could do with that.

'All right,' says Cas, and just like that, they start walking together, as easily as if nothing had happened at all.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning in the end notes.

Castiel brings Dean back to his flat, struggling all the while to be calm and quiet and supportive, and not suggest they immediately call Jody Mills and have whoever hurt him thrown in jail, or possibly off a cliff. There's something hot and tight in his chest, a secondhand ball of rage and grief and a perverse, impotent yearning to fix what's already happened. Yet he's also in awe of Dean's bravery – and of how much he loves his brother – to have still agreed to do the play. He doesn't know what he's about to hear, but he already knows that Dean Winchester isn't the kind of person who divulges either secrets or vulnerabilities on a whim, and he's determined not to make him regret the confidence.

'Wow,' says Dean, glancing around. 'Nice place.'

Cas shrugs, though he's pleased by the compliment; he's always a bit self-conscious about his personal space. 'Thank you. I don't get out a lot, so I like to feel comfortable.'

'I get that,' says Dean. He wanders through the open-plan living room, looking admiringly at Castiel's books. Except for the windows and the space above his couch, the walls are covered in shelves, and no matter how often he rearranges the contents, he never seems to have enough space for all the books he owns. His couch is dark green leather, supple and soft, with a mohair blanket folded over the arm of the matching chair. There's a flatscreen TV, a purchase Cas initially thought unnecessary, but which Gabriel insisted on (and for which he's now secretly grateful), and a low coffee table covered with yet more books and magazines.

'Would you like something to drink?' Cas asks, moving towards the kitchen. 'I was thinking I might make hot chocolate.'

Dean smiles, nods. 'Thanks, Cas. That'd be nice.'

Out of habit, Cas thumbs on his iPad where it sits in the speaker-dock on the bench, selecting one of his quieter playlists. The music soothes him as he makes the hot chocolate, occasionally glancing at Dean. He's still browsing the shelves, one arm curled across his stomach, the fingertips of his free hand trailing across the spines of Cas's books. He's wearing a thin green Henley that's slightly too big for him, showing more of his collarbone than it otherwise might, the faded fabric matching his eyes as well as Cas's lounge. His socked feet are soft on the wooden floors – Cas removed his own shoes on entry, and Dean politely copied him – and even though it's contextually inappropriate, Cas feels his breath catch. Dean is clever and kind and complex and beautiful, and the thought that someone would ever want to hurt him – that someone _did_ – makes his heart hurt.

When the drinks are ready, he crosses over, hands Dean the slightly larger mug and sits down on the couch. To his surprise, Dean opts to sit beside him rather than in the chair, his shoulders slightly hunched. Darting a glance at Cas, he sips the hot chocolate, his expression turning to one of pleasant surprise.

'Damn, Cas,' he says. 'What the hell did you put in this?'

'Cinnamon,' says Cas, smiling. 'But it's mostly the chocolate mix. Gabriel bought it for me from somewhere lavish, and I'm rather a convert.'

They share a moment of mutual silence, drinking together as the music plays softly in the background. Then Dean sighs, shifting in his seat, and speaks without lifting his head.

'First up,' he says, 'there's a few things you should know about me, just so you get the whole picture. But I'm not... I don't really talk about this stuff, so you gotta be patient with me, okay?'

'Sure,' says Cas.

Dean nods, though more to himself than Castiel, and takes a deep breath. 'All right. So. First thing is, my mom died when I was four. There was a fire in our old house, and me and dad and Sam got out okay, but the stairs collapsed before she could get down from the bedroom, and by the time the fire department got there, it was too late. Sammy was only six months old, and our dad was... traditional, I guess. I mean, if you wanted to fix a car or play ball, he was good for that, but looking after the two of us by himself, all the domestic stuff, it wasn't... to him, it wasn't what men were meant to do, you know? And he didn't like to talk about it, but I remembered some stuff from when mom was alive, from just before the fire, and I think they were fighting about it a lot, about him not pulling his weight with us. She wanted him to do more, but he thought it was all her job, and then she died, and I guess... I think, in some messed up way, he thought that if he changed, if he did what she'd wanted him to do, it'd be like admitting he hadn't treated her right in the first place, so he had to stick to his guns.'

He pauses, and Castiel fights the urge to put an arm around him.

'Anyway,' says Dean, sipping his drink. 'The point is, our dad wasn't exactly father of the year, and with mom gone, he started drinking. And I – I did what I could to help out, keep him happy, made it so that if he had to lay into one of us, it was me, not Sam –' he says it steadily, his face a mask, '– and just, you know, tried to keep house, tried to keep us together. We had money, that wasn't a problem – home insurance, life insurance – but it was worse if dad wasn't working, he'd just stay home and drink, and I...' He gulps, the sentence tailing off, then says, 'It was a relief when he died, and part of me will always feel bad about that. I mean, I missed him, I wished he'd gotten better, but I didn't miss having to _live_ with him, you know?'

'I understand,' says Cas, hating the inadequacy of the words, but Dean accepts them with a visible lessening of tension, like he'd been expecting a rebuke.

'That's when we went to stay with Bobby,' Dean says. 'He's not – I mean, he's not a blood relative, but he's family, he's our uncle, and it was good for a while. I'd never had a chance to get good grades before, but I started to do well for once, and he figured that made me smart.' He laughs, bleakly. 'So he helped me apply to Garrison, and I ended up with a scholarship.'

He stops, hands shivering despite the warmth of the mug, and suddenly Cas understands that everything Dean's told him been less about background detail and more about working himself up to whatever comes next next. When Dean finally speaks again, his voice is quiet and tense, like every word's an effort.

'But I didn't get in by earning it. I got in because the headmaster wanted to fuck me, and he figured I'd be okay with that.'

Castiel feels sick.

'I didn't know,' Dean says quickly, breathing hard, 'you gotta – it's not like I went there to screw around, I didn't know anything until it was over, and I just... my whole life, no one ever thought I was worth anything who wasn't Bobby or Sam, I was just this total fuckup of a kid, but Alistair acted like I was special, and I wanted –' he gulps, shaking, '– god, I wanted so fucking badly to believe it, Cas. And I knew it was wrong, I knew I shouldn't have gone with him, I shouldn't – I was there on a goddamn _scholarship_ , I should've known I wasn't – that _he_ wasn't – but I was so fucking lonely, everyone else just acted like I was uppity trash, and I wanted, I just wanted _one damn person_ to be in my corner. To want me there, or want me at all, even.'

Dean's eyes are wet, and Castiel is furious, so angry on his behalf that he can barely breathe.

'He took advantage of you,' Cas says, his calm slipping. 'He abused your trust.'

Dean looks shocked, mouth moving like he wants to protest; but then he slumps, and a pang shoots through Cas's chest as he realises that, up until today, Dean had never heard the term _victim-blaming_ , which seems to be exactly what he's done to himself.

'I guess he did,' Dean says, hoarsely. 'And I knew it wasn't right. I wanted to end it, and finally, I figured out how to say so. But Alistair didn't. He wouldn't let me go.' He draws a shuddering breath, gripping his empty mug so tight, his knuckles change colour. 'That's when he told me why I'd gotten the scholarship. He said I wasn't smart enough to be there on my own, that he'd – he'd been fixing my grades, and if I wanted him to keep doing it, then we couldn't stop.'

He's crying quietly as he talks, the tears a thin trickle down his cheeks. 'And I said I didn't care, I'd fail if I had to, we were done. And he said okay, but I owed him one last fuck, as thanks for everything he'd given me. As _thanks_.' He spits the word. 'And I tried to get out of his office, I tried to go, but he grabbed me, he pushed me over his desk and I said no, I _did_ , but he was so – I couldn't – it was easier to just take it, just wait it out, and it's not like I wanted it, but I still – I got off, I came, and he laughed and said he knew I'd wanted it after all, and I thought maybe that meant he was right. And then he finished, and let me up, said he'd see me around, and I just – I went home. Got cleaned up. Drank most of what was in the kitchen, passed out. Told Bobby I'd been dumped by some prep school girl so he'd let me be.'

Dean manages a thin, sad laugh. 'The next day, I went in, I was going to tell the school board what he'd done – there was a meeting, I knew they'd be there, I didn't care if I got expelled so long as he went down, too – but Alistair got to them first. Told them I'd propositioned him in his office, had all these fake emails I was meant to have sent him going back months, saying how I wanted him – I never used my school account, and he knew it – and after that, it didn't matter what I said, they all thought I was lying. And Alistair, he got up in front of everyone, he looked me right in the face, and he said –' Dean shuts his eyes, every muscle rigid, '– he said he'd hate for Garrison to lose such a _promising_ scholarship student, and that if I apologised for slandering him, I'd only face temporary suspension for the rest of it.'

He looks at Cas again, biting his lip. 'I thought about it. I almost... it was an out, you know? But then he _smiled_ , and I knew, if I stayed, he wouldn't stop. So I told them all to go fuck themselves, and then they expelled me. Right before the SATs.' His wipes his eyes with the back of his wrist, huffing an ironic noise. 'So I never graduated, and now I fix cars. Which, you know. It's good work, I'm good at it, and Bobby's great, I'm not trying to sound ungrateful or snobbish or whatever, I was probably always gonna end up what I am, it's just.... the past year, it's hard to remember that, sometimes. So it goes, I guess.' And he hangs his head, shaky and spent.

For a moment, Cas is so overwhelmed, he can barely speak. 'Dean?'

'Yeah?'

'I need to tell you something, and I need you to believe me.'

Dean looks at him – tense again, like he's waiting for the other shoe to drop. Cas sets his mug down, the contents long since abandoned, and meets his gaze. 'This man, Alistair, what he did to you – he's not just a rapist, Dean. Not only did he coerce you, manipulate you and punish you for his abuses, he also lied to you in a way which, I suspect, has caused you doubt yourself ever since.'

Dean frowns. 'What do you mean?'

'Your academic record,' Cas says, simply. 'My family – my parents, rather – have a... a connection, I suppose you'd say, to the Garrison school, and as such, I'm familiar with how their scholarship funding works. In order to apply, you had to sit both a series of tests and undergo an interview, correct?'

'Yeah,' says Dean, 'but the interview was with Alistair.'

'That may be so,' says Cas, needing him to understand, 'but Dean, headmaster or not, a single person doesn't have veto power over scholarship applicants. It might have been him you saw and his name on the letter, but you couldn't have gotten in without the Board's approval – and if you'd failed to meet the academic requirements, which I know are formidable, then a single vote from your interviewer, no matter how glowing, wouldn't have been sufficient to win them over.'

Dean sets his mug down, fingers trembling. 'You can't know that for sure.'

'Yes, I can,' says Castiel. 'Dean, think about it. Think about what kind of a man he is. He abused you, fabricated emails to frame you as opportunistic, then lied to your face – to the entire Board – about having done so, without a shred of remorse. And you? We've only just met, but your intelligence, your talent, your bravery and dedication, they're all as obvious as the fact that you have green eyes. Alistair never fixed your test results, and whatever designs he might have had on your body, it was your mind, your own personal merits, that got you into a school that manifestly didn't deserve to have you. When you spoke up against Alistair, every single adult in that room betrayed you by unquestioningly taking his word over yours, and they deserve to suffer the consequences of their actions; as does he.'

Cas hesitates, not wanting to overstep his bounds, then tentatively reaches over, taking Dean's hand in his own. Dean's eyes widen at the contact, but he doesn't pull away, and when Cas squeezes his fingers, Dean grips back.

'There's nothing I can say to undo what's been done to you,' Cas says, voice shaking with the need to get this right, 'and as much as I might want to, I can't act as an arbiter of justice on your behalf, but if I can reassure you of nothing else – if I can do nothing else – please know, please believe me when I say that you aren't stupid. You never were; not academically, and not for trusting a man who ought to have supported and respected you.'

Dean stares at him, his face a torture of hope. 'Cas, if you're just trying to make me feel better –'

Cas grips his hand, hard. 'I swear to you. I wouldn't lie, not about something like this.'

For a long moment, Dean is silent, scanning Castiel's face like he's desperately searching for falsehoods. Then his own expression cracks, a mixture of relief and loss, and he nods, just once, in acceptance of it.

Cas's heart twists in his chest. He wants to hold Dean, to offer him whatever comfort he'll consent to take, but he's terrified of pushing his boundaries. Instead, he keeps a hold of his hand, and tries to make that single touch enough.

'Gabriel,' Dean says, suddenly.

Cas blinks, startled. 'What about him?'

'You can tell him,' Dean says, shakily. 'About – about Alistair. About why I freaked out today.' He looks up, his gaze is determined. 'Maybe we change the blocking, and maybe we don't, but that bastard's already taken enough from me. He's not getting this, too.'

'You're sure?'

Dean nods. 'Not saying it's gonna be easy, but damned if I'm not gonna try.'

'You are –' says Cas, mouth suddenly dry, '– you're an extraordinary person, Dean.'

Dean flushes at the compliment, lips twitching into a smile. 'Yeah, well. I'm pretty sure it takes one to know one.'

Cas smiles back. 'Touché.'

There's a pause between them, companionable and warm, and all at once, Cas realises that the ball is in his court. They're at his house, and now that they've done what they essentially came here to do, it's his place either to ask Dean to stay, or to go.

And he very much wants him to stay.

Hesitantly, he asks, 'Would you – I mean, I'll understand if you have plans, if you need to get back to your uncle and brother, but if not, would you like to have dinner with me? I was thinking I'd order pizza.'

Dean's smile widens, and in that moment, he looks happier than he's been all day. 'Yeah, Cas,' he says. 'I'd like that a lot.'

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: Dean describes his rape. Emotional, but not graphic.


	8. Chapter 8

Dean's been with people since it happened. He picked up girls at first, because they seemed safer, and the first time after Alistair that he went with a guy, he chose someone so non-threatening, it was borderline annoying. He'd been a first year Arts student at the local university who spent the entire date stuttering and stammering and red-faced, as though he couldn't believe that Dean was interested in him. Afterwards, back in his dorm room, his eyes had practically bugged out when Dean asked him to top, but he'd recovered quickly, and soon proved to be gentle during and sweet after, and nice enough in either case that Dean felt a little guilty about slipping out once he fell asleep. Still, he's grateful to the guy, and if there's been a couple of times since where he's bailed on dates or backed out in the bedroom, at least he knows that he's not completely ruined.

But even though Castiel knows the truth, he has this way of making Dean feel like he isn't ruined at all. It's not just everything Cas has said – that he believes him; that it wasn't his fault; that Alistair lied about his grades – but the fact that he's gone straight from that to asking which pizza place Dean prefers, and does he object to anchovies? (he doesn't). The last time Dean was in a strange guy's house, he couldn't relax unless he was looking at the door, reminding himself that he could always run if he had to. But he feels safe with Cas, safer than he's felt in a long time, and if it seems impossible that they only met yesterday, well, Dean knows better than most people how much difference a day can make; how even a couple of hours with the right person, or the wrong one, can change everything.

'Pizza's on its way,' says Cas, hanging up the phone. He has a properly old-fashioned landline on the table by the door, one of those big black Bakelite things with a rotary dial that's probably older than both of them combined, and Dean doesn't know which it is more: adorable or hilarious.

'You get that at a museum?' he asks, raising an eyebrow.

Cas laughs. 'A Christmas gift from Gabriel. According to him, it reflects my general level of technological competence.'

'Sounds about right for a bookworm,' Dean teases.

'Says the man who casually slips Vonnegut quotes into his conversation,' Cas quips back.

Happy warmth prickles him inside and out, like kneading cat-claws felt through a blanket. He shouldn't be surprised that Cas caught the reference, given the contents of his shelves, but it makes him feel special all the same. 'It's a good line,' Dean says. ' _So it goes._ Sums up a lot of stuff, you know? I was, uh –' he rubs his wrist, suddenly self-conscious, '– I was kinda thinking of getting it as a tattoo, actually.'

Cas's step falters ever so slightly, tongue darting out to lick his lips. 'You have tattoos?'

'Just a couple,' Dean admits. 'I always liked the idea of them, and it seemed like a good way to commemorate some of the shit in my life. Pin it down, somehow.'

Cas resumes his seat on the lounge, gaze sweeping over Dean like he's trying to figure out where his designs might be. 'Can I... can I see them?' he asks, tentatively. 'I mean, are they somewhere you can show me, or –?'

'Well, gee, Cas,' says Dean, grinning, 'you already bought me dinner, so why not?'

Cas gulps, pupils darkening, and part of Dean thrills at the reaction. He's definitely not imagining it: Cas is into him, but he's being a fucking gentleman about it, and not only is that a welcome novelty for Dean, but it's actually really hot. Until or unless Dean makes a move, he somehow knows that Castiel won't – and that means he's the one in charge.

Shivering pleasantly, Dean smiles and rolls up the sleeve of his Henley, showing Cas the band around his right bicep, an intricate, intertwining pattern of chains and roses, the thorns tipped with blood, a scatter of small stars winking in the gaps between petals and links.

'That was my first one,' he says, softly. 'I got it when I turned eighteen, after – after Garrison. Wanted something to put me back in myself, you know?'

Cas's fingertips ghost the design, close enough to raise the hairs on Dean's arm, but he doesn't touch. 'It's beautiful.'

'Thanks,' says Dean, pulse skipping a little as he pushes the sleeve back down. 'There's two more, but they're, uh, a little harder to show.' Specifically, they're on his shoulderblade and hip, and while he's not averse to showing either region to Cas, the idea of making him wait is just a little exciting. So instead, he winks and says, 'Maybe another time.'

Cas sucks in a quiet breath. 'Another time,' he agrees, faintly. 'So, where would you want to get the quote?'

'My wrist,' says Dean, instantly. 'Just on the inside, here.' He holds out his left arm, right thumb rubbing beneath the heel of his palm. 'So I could – so I can see it, you know. Remind myself why it matters.'

'I think that sounds wonderful.'

Dean nods, momentarily distracted by Castiel's mouth. God, he could just lean over and kiss him – he knows it would be good; the kiss at the theatre was something else – but he doesn't, savouring his ability to draw this out, to get to know him first. Then he remembers it's his turn to say something, and comes out with, 'So, what about you, Cas? You got any ink?'

'Sadly, no, though as you said, the concept has always appealed to me.'

'So why not just do it?'

Cas smiles ruefully. 'Fear, I suppose. And awkwardness. I always feel... intimidated, I suppose, by the prospect of going in alone, and as the only alternative is asking Gabriel to go with me, I've never worked up the courage.'

Now it's Dean's turn to be surprised. 'You couldn't just ask a friend?'

'I don't, ah...' Cas shrugs helplessly, cheeks pinking. 'Most of my friendships these days take place online. It's not that I dislike company, per se, but when I moved out here, I prioritised my writing ahead of socialising, and somehow, I've never quite lost the habit. The community theatre helps, and Gabriel's always trying to drag me to things, but I have little patience for... for small talk, I suppose. For conversations that don't matter. I'd much rather get to know one or two people well than a whole group badly.'

'I get that,' says Dean. He shoots a sideways glance at Cas. 'Y'know, if you really wanted to get one, I'd come with you.'

'You would?'

'Sure, Cas.' Dean smiles at him. 'I mean, depending on what you've got in mind, I could help find you an artist. My friend Jo, she did my armband, but I'd go to someone else for lettering.'

'I... I always liked the idea of a bee design. Like a honeycomb, maybe.' He ducks his head. 'But that's probably stupid.'

'Stupid? No way.' Dean gives Cas's knee an encouraging nudge with his own. 'Bet it'd look awesome on you.'

'You really think so?'

'Absolutely.'

Cas gulps, his expression strangely vulnerable. 'Thank you,' he says. 'That... that would mean a lot to me. Next weekend, maybe, after rehearsal, we could go to see your friend?'

'Sure thing,' says Dean, and Castiel's answering smile is a thing of beauty.

 

*

 

It's the best night Cas has had in forever. He and Dean talk – about tattoos, about books, about cars and films and theatre – and when the pizza finally comes, they pull up Netflix and watch an old James Bond movie, laughing the whole time about the sexism and the fight scenes and the completely ridiculous everything.

'You know Ian Flemming thought gay men couldn't whistle?' Dean says, as Roger Moore camps it up on screen. 'Like, he actually thought that. Put it in the books and everything.'

'You're not serious, says Cas.

'Hand to god, man. You can look it up. The dude had some weird ideas.'

Castiel chuckles. 'I never did read the books. Are they any good?'

'They're okay,' says Dean, shrugging. 'I mean, I'll read pretty much anything, but back before... when dad was around, he'd leave me alone more often if I was reading something he approved of. James Bond was on his good list, so I bought a whole bunch of secondhand hardbacks, and once I'd done reading them, I put the dustjackets on other stuff, so he wouldn't see I was reading _girl_ books, or whatever.' He snorts at the appellation. 'Like stories even have a gender.'

'I wish I'd thought of that trick,' says Castiel, propping his feet on the coffee table. 'My teenage years might have been considerably more pleasant.'

Dean raises an eyebrow. 'Yeah?' he says, inviting an explanation without demanding one.

It's not something Castiel generally brings up in conversation, but Dean isn't most people, and for the first time in a long time, he feels comfortable talking about his upbringing. 'My family was – is, I should say – quite wealthy. They're also deeply conservative, and very strictly Christian. Gabriel and I are both named after angels, and our other siblings have similarly Biblical names. Growing up, we were taught that secular culture was rife with immoral content, and as such, our parents heavily restricted what books and films we could access. I still had a library card, of course, and I gleaned a certain amount from friends and school, but I had to be very careful about what I brought home.'

'That sucks,' says Dean, sincerely. He gives Cas a measured, sympathetic look. 'So I'm guessing the whole gay thing didn't go over too well with them?'

'You could say that,' Cas says, wryly. 'When I came out, they cut me off completely. Gabriel was furious with the lot of us, though mostly them; he's older than me, you see, and in case it isn't obvious, his sexual appetite runs to pretty much anyone who's interested. Not that either of us knew that pansexuality was an option, growing up; he just figured that, as long as our parents saw him with women, then they wouldn't think he was sleeping with anyone else, and by and large, he was right. Not that he didn't rock the boat in other ways – he was always something of a playboy, prone to _scandalous exploits_ , as our mother called them –' he grins at the phrase, and Dean grins back, '– but he always managed to charm his way back into their good graces. And then I had to go and come out, and force him to pick _sides_.'

'And he chose you?' Dean asks.

'He did,' says Cas, his ongoing gratitude warring briefly with old guilt. 'Though he stopped short of coming out himself, which is the only reason they still talk to him. He gets Christmas cards, birthday cards, the odd update from our mother or brothers. Otherwise, we're both Novaks in exile.'

He sees the moment when Dean makes the connection. 'Novak?' he says, his eyebrows raising. 'There's a Novak building on the Garrison campus!'

'My father is one of their favoured alumni,' Cas says, somewhat disgustedly. 'Though my mother insisted we were educated elsewhere – she thought the Garrison curriculum had become too left-leaning – my father tends to make up for it with rather lavish donations.'

Dean pales. 'They're not on the Board, are they?'

'Thankfully not,' says Castiel; Dean slumps with obvious relief. Cautiously, he adds, 'But if... if a scandal were ever to taint the school, they would take it very personally.'

'Yeah, well, if wishes were horses,' Dean mutters. 'Trust me, I've thought about it, about reporting him. But Alistair's got his conveniently fake emails, and I've got nothing. Even if I could get a cop to believe me, it'd be all he-said, he-said, and I already know who people are gonna believe. If the Board had turned on him, maybe, but otherwise? I'm just some troublemaking dropout looking for a payday.'

'Dean,' says Cas, gently. 'You know that's not true.'

'I know,' says Dean. 'But it's what they'd say.'

Castiel can't argue with that, though he wishes he could, and so he passes the pizza box instead. It's the right decision: Dean's whole face lights up, and Cas is so damn gone on him, it's not even funny.

They snark their way through the rest of the film, but afterwards, Dean checks the time on his phone and swears.

'Shit, it's nearly nine. I should get home.'

'Of course,' says Cas, though it feels wrong, Dean leaving. They get up, carrying the leftover pizza into the kitchen, then move to the door, Cas hovering as Dean puts his boots back on. 'I'll speak to Gabriel, get a time for our next blocking session?'

'Sure,' says Dean, straightening up. 'And, uh. We're still on for the weekend? It's just, I'll need to call Jo, make sure she's free –'

'I wouldn't miss it,' says Cas, and Dean shoots him another one of those melting smiles.

'Awesome,' he says – and then he leans in, enveloping Cas in a fierce, tight hug. 'Thanks, Cas,' he murmurs. 'For – for everything tonight.'

Castiel hugs him back, savouring every second of contact. _Stay,_ he wants to say, _stay with me, don't go,_ but it's far too soon, and so he forces himself to step back, smiling as he opens the door.

'Goodbye, Dean,' he says.

Dean hesitates on the threshold, holding his gaze for three long seconds that stretch into eternity. 'Bye, Cas,' he says, finally.

And then he fucking _winks_ again, and before Cas can properly process the flirtation, Dean is gone, striding away down the hall and out into the night.

Castiel takes a deep, calming breath, relatches the door, and goes to pour himself a very large glass of wine.

He's just settled back on the couch when his phone buzzes. Hoping it might be Dean, he grabs it up eagerly, then frowns when he sees it's a text from his brother instead. Sighing, he opens it.

 **Gabriel:** _u guys screwin or cn I come over?_

Suppressing a laugh that's half a groan, Cas rolls his eyes and replies.

 **Castiel** : _I'm alone, if that's what you're asking. There was no sex._

 **Gabriel:** _trust u 2 strike out. Ill be there in 10 with consolatory booze_

 **Castiel:** _I'd tell you not to bother, but you'd probably take that as a challenge._

 **Gabriel:** _u know me well little bro_

Chuckling, Cas puts the phone away and waits. Sure enough, there's a knock on the door inside of fifteen minutes, and when Cas goes to open it, his brother is on the other side. Gabriel enters with a smirk, a six pack of beer in one hand and a bottle of whiskey in the other.

'Wasn't sure how dire the situation was,' he says, 'so I figured I'd come prepared.'

'I'm touched,' says Cas, lofting his glass of wine. 'And also ahead of you.'

'Good man,' says Gabe, and shoves all but one of his beers in the fridge, cracking it open and taking a long swig. 'So, I'm assuming you spent at least part of this afternoon with our Little Red,' he says, sauntering over to the lounge and sprawling himself in the armchair. 'Care to dish the deets? And don't give me that _a gentleman never tells_ crap, I saw the way you were looking at each other.'

'Yes, I was with Dean,' says Cas, slumping onto the couch, 'and yes, there's possibly something there, but Gabriel –'

'Was he having a big gay freakout?' Gabe says, eyebrows waggling. 'Has he come to terms with his burgeoning love for penises yet, or are you still walking him through it?'

'Gabriel!' Cas snaps. 'Enough!'

Gabe blinks at him. 'Wrong ballpark?'

'Very wrong,' says Cas, then sighs, running a hand down his face. It helps that he has Dean's permission for this, but even so, his stomach churns. 'He's bisexual,' he says, 'and not closeted, though he's not quite out yet, either –'

'Called it!' Gabriel crows.

'– but _that's not the problem_ ,' Cas says sharply, cutting Gabriel off. He takes a deep breath, then meets his brother's gaze. 'The problem,' he says, more quietly, 'is that you effectively asked him to re-enact his own rape.'

'But that's the part –' Gabe starts, then breaks off, horrified. 'Oh, Jesus. You're not talking about the play, are you?'

Castiel shakes his head, gripping the stem of his wine glass. 'It was the headmaster at Garrison,' he says, unable to keep the rage from his voice. 'The bastard told the Board that Dean had propositioned him, so when he tried to tell them about it, they all assumed he was lying. They fucking _expelled_ him, Gabriel.'

'Holy Christ,' Gabe breathes. 'And he can't – I mean, he hasn't gone to the police?'

'He's got no evidence,' Cas says, heavily, 'and the school's closed ranks against him. Even if he wanted to, it'd be an uphill battle.'

' _Fuck_.'

'That about sums it up, yes.' He takes an angry sip of wine. 'He was _seventeen_ , Gabriel, and those fucking asshats just straight-up called him a liar. He hasn't told his family; he didn't even mean to tell _me_. It just slipped out while he was damn near hyperventilating, and the look on his face... he thought I wouldn't believe him, either.'

'Nice little place our father's been investing in, then,' says Gabriel, acidly.

'Quite.'

Gabriel winces. 'God, no wonder he wanted to work out the blocking in private. Poor kid didn't even mean to audition, and then we practically guilted him into it – he must've been freaked the whole time.'

'He's not a kid,' says Castiel, quietly.

Gabriel looks puzzled for a moment; then understanding hits, and his whole face softens. 'Oh, Cassie. I mean, I know I was joking about it and all, but under the circumstances –'

'You think I don't know that?' Cas shoots back. 'I'm well aware of the context.'

'You really like him?'

'I really do.'

'Well, then.' Gabe thumps his beer on the coffee table, flashing Cas a grin. 'It's just as well I brought the whiskey, isn't it?'

 


	9. Chapter 9

 Dean spends the next two days texting back and forth with Cas, which exchange is equal parts random conversation (' _what's ur favourite flavour pie?'_ ) and updates on their respective lives ( _'Gabriel made me drink all the whiskey, Dean. ALL OF IT. I want to die only slightly less than I want to kill him.'_ ). It quickly gets to the point where he's checking his phone every few minutes, grinning whenever Cas replies, which doesn't seem like that big of a deal to Dean, but apparently his traitor brother thinks otherwise. They're just sitting down to dinner – Bobby's meatloaf, which is always a favourite – when Sam decides to bring it up with all the subtlety of a beached whale.

'So, are you and Cas like, dating or whatever?' he asks.

Dean chokes on his water.

'Sam!' he hisses, flicking his gaze to where Bobby's serving up. 'Shut your cakehole!'

Sam makes an exasperated noise. 'Dean, I told you, he's not going to care, and the way you're suddenly glued to your phone, you're going to have to tell him _something_.'

'I'm not –' Dean starts, but is promptly cut off by Bobby, who sets down their plates and raises a curious eyebrow.

'You seein' somebody?' he asks.

'No!' says Dean – just as his phone, which is sitting by the placemat, buzzes with a new text. His gaze flicks to it, but he doesn't pick up, refusing to give his brother the goddamn satisfaction. 'It's just – just play stuff, you know.'

'Well,' says Bobby, rolling up his sleeves, 'in the event that you do start dating, just know that I expect to be introduced to the lucky guy or girl, all right? Half the fun of parenting is getting to put the scare on prospective partners, and I don't intend to miss out on it just cos' you're too shy to ever bring someone home.'

Dean's mouth falls open; as, for that matter, does Sam's. Oblivious, Bobby picks up his cutlery and is about to dig into his meatlof when he registers the unusual silence, flicking his gaze up to the two of them.

'You _knew_?' Dean croaks.

Bobby blinks at him, nonplussed. 'Well, yeah,' he says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. 'I always figured I'd wait until you brought it up, but after I overheard you and Sam talkin' the other night, it seemed like I oughta take the initiative.' With typical gentle gruffness, he adds, 'You're my kid, Dean. Of course I knew.'

There's a hot lump in Dean's throat. 'How long?'

'Always had an inkling you inclined both ways,' says Bobby, cutting a wedge off his meatloaf. 'When you first started school, you used to get infatuated with other kids all the time – boys, girls, whoever. You'd tag after them, tell me all about how nice they were or what they were good at, and then the next week you'd be focussed on someone else. Very capricious.'

'And that was it? That was all it took?'

'Well, that and all those boys you were “just friends” with,' says Bobby, who somehow manages to make airquotes without putting down his cutlery. 'You always got nervous a certain way before dates with girls, and when you started doin' the exact same thing before you saw particular boys – not all of them, mind, just a special few – I used my big ol' brain to put two and two together.'

'I _told_ you,' Sam says, smugly. 'So are you dating Cas, or what?'

Dean blushes scarlet. 'I am _not_ ,' he says, firmly, 'dating Cas.'

'But you want to, right?'

Dean looks to Bobby for support, but his uncle just quirks a smile, like he's waiting on the answer, too.

'Maybe,' he grudges – and then, at Sam's excited whoop, 'Sammy, I swear to god, would you give it a rest? Or do you want me to track down _Josie_ next rehearsal and tell her how old you were before you stopped believing in the Easter Bunny?'

Sam looks mortified. 'You wouldn't!'

'Try me,' Dean says, smug at having regained the upper hand.

'Josie, huh?' says Bobby, turning his gaze on Sam. 'Looks like your brother's not the only one who's been holding out on me.'

'You guys suck,' Sam mutters, stabbing his meatloaf.

'Yeah, yeah,' says Dean, and picks up his phone, thumbing through to Cas's messages.

 **Castiel:** _Are you free for a blocking session tomorrow at midday?_

 **Castiel :** _Apologies for the late notice; Gabe had a change in schedule._

Dean looks up again. 'Bobby? Is it okay if I take off tomorrow, do some rehearsal stuff?'

'Sure thing, boy,' says Bobby. 'Now put the damn phone down and eat your meatloaf.'

'Sorry,' Dean says, and quickly texts Cas back a yes before shoving the phone in his pocket. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't nervous, especially given what happened last time, but now that both Cas and Gabe know about why he freaked, he feels more confident that he can work through it.

The meatloaf is, as always, delicious.

 

*

 

Castiel lies in bed, his phone beside him. He's barely gone half an hour without talking to Dean since the morning after their pizza night, and it's making him start to wonder if he should upgrade his cell plan. Which feels, on the one hand, like a presumptuous thing to do; as though he's already counting on their conversations being a regular thing. But on the other, he can't remember the last time he felt this excited by someone, or so invested in them so early. A part of him worries that he ought to be more conflicted about the age gap – Dean is a full decade younger than him, and as Gabriel pointed out during The Night of Whiskey, it'll be two more years before he can legally drink – but the rest of him doesn't care. He's smiled more in the past four days than he has in the past two months, and that's entirely thanks to Dean.

His phone buzzes softly, the screen lighting up, and Cas's heart lifts.

 **Dean:** _u still awake?_

 **Castiel:** _Just lying in bed._

 **Dean:** _cool, me too_

 **Dean:** _I'm nervous about tomorrow_

 **Castiel:** _I understand. We won't do anything you're not comfortable with._

 **Dean:** _I know. I trust u_

Cas smiles in the darkness, warming at the thought.

 **Castiel:** _For what it's worth, I trust you, too._

 **Dean:** _:)_

 **Dean:** _tbh tho I'm more worried bout when its not just us_

 **Castiel:** _You mean being in front of an audience?_

 **Dean:** _yeah. I keep thinking ppl will be able to look at me & know_

 **Dean:** _like 2nite @ dinner, bobby said he always knew I was bi & I had no idea_

 **Dean:** _& like it's great that he knows  & is ok w/it, but it makes me wonder what else ppl can just tell by lookin_

 **Castiel:** _I can see why you'd worry, but a play is different. They'll just think you're acting, I promise._

 **Castiel:** _But I'm very glad your uncle is being supportive :)_

 **Dean:** _thanks cas :)_

 **Dean:** _I shld get to sleep, gotta look pretty for my adoring public 2morrow!_

 **Dean:** _that's u btw ;)_

The breath catches in Cas's throat. It's not the most obvious flirtation that Dean's sent him, but it comes close, and the knowledge that they're both in bed lends it an intimacy it might otherwise lack. Cas's cock twitches against the sheets – he sleeps naked, for preference – and all at once, he's hit by a joint realisation: firstly, that he could just reach down and touch himself while they were talking like this, and secondly, that Dean could well be doing the same thing on his end. It's an arousing enough prospect that he groans a little, biting his lip as he thinks of how to respond. He has an idea that Dean's enjoying his role as provocateur, trusting Castiel to let him set the pace between them, and as much as the implied tease has him shivering with the need to respond, being too assertive would defeat the purpose.

After a moment, he types out a response, hesitating only slightly before hitting send.

 **Castiel:** _You always look good to me._

As the seconds tick by without a reply, he starts to worry that he's pushed a boundary, said the wrong thing. He's on the brink of wording an apology when a new message arrives, this one with a video attachment.

Pulse jumping, Cas hits play.

It's taken side-on, with Dean lying down, his cheek pressed to the pillow. He's clearly in his room, his face lit by the phone and nothing else, his throat and just the barest edge of shoulder hinting at further nakedness. He's smiling, sleepy and sweet, and when he speaks, Cas lets out a breath he wasn't conscious of holding.

_'G'night, Cas. Hope you sleep well and, uh, see you tomorrow.'_

The video ends, and Cas plays it three more times in a row before he realises he ought to respond.

Shyly, he thumbs through to his own camera, holding the phone up over his face and hoping the angle isn't too weird.

'Goodnight, Dean,' he murmurs, smiling. 'Sweet dreams.'

He's too self-conscious to play it back, and so sends it without checking, hoping it was okay. There's another longish pause, and then his phone buzzes with another message – a text, this time.

 **Dean:** _JFC, Cas. where the hell does a writer get abs like that???_

 **Castiel:** _I told you I was a runner._

 **Dean:** _seeing is believing_

 **Dean:** _will definitely have sweet dreams now ;)_

 **Castiel:** _That makes two of us :)_

 **Dean:** _:)_

Cas doesn't reply to that; there's no need. Still smiling, he sets down his phone, settles back in the pillows, and slowly strokes himself to a fantasy of Dean in bed beside him, one hand resting on Castiel's chest as he whispers filthy praise in his ear. His climax, when it comes, hits hard enough that he barely has the energy to clean himself up before passing into a deep, satisfying sleep.

He dreams of Dean.


	10. Chapter 10

'You're sure about this?' Gabriel asks, for what feels like the tenth time in as many minutes. 'You don't have to prove anything, Dean. We can change the blocking –'

'– and maybe we will,' says Dean, cutting him off. 'But last time, I came into it so freaked, I'm pretty sure anything would've set me off. Just – just let me try it again, okay? And if it doesn't work, fine, but at least I'll know it wasn't a one-off thing.'

They're back on stage, the desk set up where it was the first time they tried this scene. They started out by doing another runthrough of _Hello, Little Boy_ to see if they'd remembered it from the previous session, this time with Cas singing the full song, and apart from a few corrections, it went smoothly. Cas's regular speaking voice is wry and scratchy and just this side of deep, but when he sings, it smooths into something warm and mellow, and as much as Dean is meant to be acting, he doesn't exactly have to feign his attraction to the man. When it came to the kiss, he just about broke character and grabbed for him, only remembering at the last second that Red is meant to be passive. Cas kissed him no less deeply than before, and when he got on his knees, Dean's whole body shivered with misplaced anticipation.

Now, though, they're back to the assault scene, and for all that Dean's determined to try Gabe's original blocking again – plus the new instructions for what comes next, which they didn't get to last time – a part of him remains on edge. Taking a deep breath, he moves to his side of the desk and looks at Cas, focussing on his face. _It should be illegal,_ part of him thinks, _to have eyes that shade of blue._ Cas is hot enough as it is, with his hair and his face and his goddamn abs; the eyes on top of all that are just _unfair_. They crinkle at the corners, a soft smile that Dean can't help returning, and all at once, he knows what he needs.

'We're going to do this twice in a row,' he says – for Gabriel's benefit, mostly, though it's Cas he looks at. 'The first time, I'm gonna call stop in the middle, just to... just so I know, so the panicky part of me knows, that I've got that option. And then we'll play it all the way through. Deal?'

'Deal,' says Cas.

'Works for me,' says Gabe, and stands back, giving them room. 'Whenever you're ready.'

Dean takes another breath, gives Cas a small nod, and then they start the scene. Cas slips so easily into playing the Wolf, it's almost shocking, but Dean's ready for it, following the tug on his wrist as he's yanked around the desk. It's surreal, the way his brain suddenly seems to split in two – or three, rather, given that he also feels like he's watching the main schism from a remove. One part of him is right in the scene, mentally running the list of Gabriel's instructions – how to move, how to struggle, when to pull against Cas and when to follow him – and another is replaying the day in Alistair's office, flooding his sense memory with scents, sights, sounds. It's a peculiar tension reconciled, inasmuch as that's possible, by that smaller, disconnected part of himself, which quietly tries to remind his other two selves that one experience is a memory and the other pretend, but even so, the sense of physical terror is real. He holds out as long as he can, until Cas has him shoved over the desk, his wrists pinned and a hand on a hip, before yelling, 'Stop!'

The reaction is instantaneous: Cas lets go and practically jumps back, while Dean stays where he is, pulse racing as he sucks in air, his neck and palms damp with cooling sweat.

'Dean?' Cas asks, soft and urgent. 'Are you okay?'

Slowly, he straightens and turns, a hand extended before him. His fingers are visibly trembling. He makes a tight fist, then flexes it out, repeating the gesture until the spasm stops. He huffs a shaky laugh and meets Cas's worried gaze, though from the corner of his eye, he's aware that Gabriel, too, looks slightly pale.

'That was, uh, intense,' he says. 'Not gonna lie. But I'm –' he pauses, reconsiders his words, '– well, okay, _fine_ might be a stretch, but I'm dealing. Can we go again?'

'We can,' says Gabriel, 'but I'd just like to register that, whatever my commitment to theatrical authenticity, I draw the line at repeatedly triggering you for the sake of art. I mean it: I'd rather rewrite the scene than make you –'

'– do anything I'm not comfortable with,' says Dean. 'I _know_ , Gabe, and I – I really appreciate that, okay? Believe me, I'm not gonna stubborn myself into another meltdown.' He looks away, trying to get his thoughts in order, shoving aside the part of him that can still smell the ink and leather scent of Alistair's desk. When he speaks again, his voice comes out small. 'I just... I want to try and control it, you know?'

'We know,' says Cas, and Dean nods, relaxing a little. Even as the Wolf, he trusts Cas not to hurt him. He's nothing like Alistair.

'Let's go again, then,' says Dean. 'I'll try for all the way through, this time.'

He manages it, though it's a near thing; he hadn't banked on the fact that getting further in than before might freak him out in a different way. He walks it off, takes a long drink of water, splashes his face, and comes back again, determined to do at least one clean run before they finish up. Though he doesn't exactly have a lot of experience with community theatre, from what Cas and Sam have told him, he knows that Gabriel is being slightly ambitious with his rehearsal timeframe, trying to get them all ready in nine weeks rather than ten or twelve, so that they can fit in the two-week performance run before the end of the summer break. The fact that he's still taking time to meet with them all separately at the outset is a gamble, and although Dean's grateful to be given the space – and as much as he's not going to martyr himself for a goddamn play – he still wants to get this bit right, so that when he has to get up and do it in front of the rest of the cast, he won't embarrass himself.

The third time, though, he taps out almost instantly, struggling to breathe. Without even thinking about it, he goes straight to Cas for comfort, wrapping his arms around his neck and resting his head on his shoulder. Cas holds him, big hands rubbing soothing circles into his back, until Dean feels calm again, anchored in his body. He shoots Gabriel a warning look, not wanting to hear the disclaimer, but this time, it's Cas who gives it.

'Dean,' he says, softly. 'You know we'll both support whatever decision you make, and I have every faith in you, but trying to work through a major trigger in a single session is, well... inadvisable, I think. It's going to take time, and you need to decide if this is something you're willing to tackle in front of the rest of the cast, or if you want to try a different approach. There's no shame either way, but right now, I think you're pushing yourself too hard, too fast.'

'I can do it,' Dean insists. 'I _can_.' He steps back from Cas, running a hand through his hair, his fingers twitching with a sudden burst of nervous energy. 'I mean, I get it, I do, it's a trauma thing – it just doesn't make any goddamn _sense_ , you know?' He laughs, the sound high and wild. 'I mean, logically, I know, I _kno_ w it's you, I _know_ it's a play, I _know_ it's just an action, a motion, a thing I can do with my body that won't hurt, doesn't hurt, but it doesn't – it doesn't feel like I'm _here_ , I keep – it's like there's a glitch, like I'm doing one thing and this other, these other _bits_ keep bleeding in, and I know he's not here and I'm not there, but I still smell his goddamn office, and I don't, I don't understand –'

'Dean – '

'– I mean, he's already got what he wanted, right? The Wolf? He's already had me, already had his fucking _use_ , he didn't need – he could've just let me go, and instead he's gotta grab me, shove me down, but it's not even lust any more, it's just –' he sucks in air, the epiphany like a thunderbolt, '– it's power. The whole time, it was never – it's _power_ , it's _knowing he can_ , because it's just an action, a motion, it's a thing he can do with his body to hurt, but it's not about me at all. I'm not special. I _wasn't s_ pecial. I just didn't have any power.' He stares at Cas, breathing raggedly, and lifts his chin. 'For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction, right? Well, this is mine. This is me reacting, because reaction and knowledge and fucking _choice_ are all the powers I've got right now, and I'm damn well going to use them. And Alistair fucking _Sharp_ can _choke_ on it.'

He storms back over to the desk and smacks his palms on the wood. 'We're going again.'

Castiel doesn't speak. He looks at Gabe, who's standing there like he just got slapped, then slowly nods, resuming his place on the opposite side of the desk. He fixes Dean with a stare that's deep and fathomless, like falling into the sea; and then he breathes; and then they start the scene.

And Dean doesn't falter. He's full of angry energy, the blood still buzzing under his skin, and part of him itches, and part of him is conscious of the symmetry, the way it echoes what was done, but there isn't a flashback, he doesn't smell ink, and when they stop, his palms are dry.

'Again?' he asks, and Castiel nods, his eyes alight.

This time, it's almost like a dance. He shifts in anticipation of Castiel's hands, so the motion feels smooth and liquid; as though he's guiding himself alone, and Cas just happens to be there. Dean grins when they finish, bright and fierce, the victory a phoenix-gift he's given himself, and this time, when he throws himself on Cas, the other man laughs and spins him round – actually lifts and spins him, like they're some couple in a movie – before crushing him close in a joyful hug.

'You're extraordinary,' Cas whispers, his lips against Dean's ear.

And just in that moment, for once in his misbegotten life, Dean believes it.

 


	11. Chapter 11

Castiel thought the high point of his day was kissing Dean, but watching him after he pulls off the assault scene – holding him, seeing his face light up – is better by far. He's on the brink of suggesting they call the rehearsal a day and go have a meal to celebrate when Gabriel gets in ahead of him.

'I never doubted you for a second,' he says to Dean, who's still grinning broadly. 'Now, do you want to finish there, or would you like to take a crack at the new version of _I Know Things Now_ I worked out for you?'

'You fixed the song?' Dean asks, flush with exhilaration. They're no longer hugging, but his right arm has slid down to loop around Cas's waist, and as he steps away, his fingers drag a lingering touch across his shirt.

'Well, if by _fixed_ , you mean worked out a slightly different tune, then yes,' says Gabriel, grabbing his iPad from where it sits on a nearby chair. 'I did consider changing more of the lyrics, like we discussed, but then it occurred to me that if you just sing it differently – if the actual music is darker, sadder, angrier – then it completely changes the meaning of the words, though I've still switched a few lines and cut out the bit about being swallowed. So –' he thumbs through to the iPad's videos, and brings up one of himself, sitting at an electronic keyboard. 'I know you said you can't read music, but I thought you could take your cue from this. Did you learn the original lyrics at all?'

'I did,' Dean admits.

'Excellent!' says Gabe. 'So, now, just give this a listen – and no mocking, please, of my far inferior vocal skills – and see what you think.'

He presses play, handing the iPad to Dean, and Cas steps in to watch. The change is instantly clear: where the original song is quick with rising notes, Gabriel has slowed and stretched it, almost inverting the music. He's not a bad singer, despite his false modesty, and as the song progresses, his cutting inflections render the lyrics cynical rather than naïve.

'I was thinking,' Gabe says, when the clip finishes, 'that you'd sing it to the Wolf before killing him. I mean, in the original, we don't see him die on stage, but his death is implied; this way, when the Baker interrupts the assault, we can have him tied up, and you – or Red, rather – can sing the song to his face, cut his throat, then take the jacket from his body. With Granny approving in the background and the Baker looking morally conflicted in the foreground, of course.'

Castiel blinks, impressed. 'That could really work,' he says, just as Dean nods enthusiastically.

'Can I hear it again?' he asks.

'Sure,' says Gabe, and the three of them stand there, listening to the tinny rendition two more times before Dean declares himself satisfied.

'We'll work out the blocking at a main rehearsal,' Gabe says, 'because we'll need Benny and Victor to get it right, but give the song a try; see how it feels.'

Dean nods, casts a small smile at Cas, swallows, and launches straight into it.

And Castiel's heart nearly stops.

He knew Dean had to have a good voice – Gabriel wouldn't have been so enthusiastic otherwise – but hearing it for himself is something else altogether. Dean doesn't just copy Gabriel's changes; he improves on them, turning the song into something that's by turns dark and pleading, menacing and bereft. His voice fills the theatre, powerful and deep and just a tiny bit husky, and Castiel feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He's dimly aware that he's gawking, but he doesn't give a shit, because Dean has the kind of voice you'd pay serious money to hear, and if Cas had been in any way uncertain about his feelings, this would've tipped him right over the edge.

Dean finishes the song, blinking like he's come out of a trance, and looks to Gabriel, awkwardly rubbing an elbow.

'Was that all right?' he asks.

Gabriel looks stunned

'Jesus _Christ_ ,' he breathes. 'You – you're forcing me into serious understatement here, but yes, Dean, that was _all right_. It was _considerably more_ than just _all right_. I mean, god – have you honestly never studied music? Grade school choir, childhood piano lessons – anything like that?'

Dean shrugs, blushing, and scuffs the stage with his boot. 'Listened to a lot of music, growing up. Mostly classic rock, whatever stuff my dad liked. Used to, uh... used to sing to Sammy a lot, to keep him calm – when he was little, you know. Mom always sang to me, before she died, so I figured it was a good way to stop him crying. It usually worked, too. Kept everyone happy.'

Castiel has a sudden image of Dean aged four or five, singing softly to a baby Sam, wary even then of rousing their father's temper, and feels a rush of furious sympathy. His and Gabriel's upbringing was hardly a garden of delights, but at least their parents were consistent in their attitudes, and when he and his brothers were small, they were rarely scolded. Punishment was something that came later, when they were old enough to understand a certain amount of ideology and the stated consequences for going against it, and even then, their parents' discipline – whether physical or otherwise – was always more sterile than impassioned. It was _predictable_ , is the point; but Dean, whose father was an angry, grieving drunk, lacked even that base degree of certainty. His punishments came at random, and from what little he's said to Cas about it, his teachers didn't exactly encourage him, either, for all that he's clearly intelligent.

Which means that, unlike Gabriel, Dean isn't being falsely modest. His body language screams uncertainty, not only because he doesn't know what sort of response to expect for his actions, but because he's predisposed to doubt whatever praise he's given.

But somehow, astonishingly, he's made the decision to trust Cas. _Dean trusts him_ , and as the full significance of it crashes into him, Cas is physically shaken by the need to make use of that fact.

'Dean?' he says, waiting until the other man looks at him, holding his gaze. 'You're an amazing singer. You're just... I don't even have words for it. You're incredible.'

Dean goes crimson, but even though he ducks his head, it's obvious he's still smiling. 'Thanks, Cas,' he mumbles, then coughs, clearly trying to compose himself. 'So, uh – now that we've got the, um, the blocking stuff sorted, when do we start group rehearsals?'

'Friday, 6pm,' says Gabriel, promptly. 'Or at least, that's the idea. Organising amateur theatrics is like herding cats, but we'll get there in the end.' He rubs his hands together, then pauses, catching sight of his watch. 'Speaking of which, we'll have to wrap this up – I'm about to run late for my next appointment.'

'Sure,' says Dean, while Castiel gives a fond roll of his eyes. Gabriel is always rushing about the place in a state of seeming chaos and semi-disorganisation, but somehow, it seems to work for him.

Five minutes later, they're outside the theatre, with Cas and Dean once again left to their own devices as Gabriel hurries off. Dean watches until he's out of sight, then turns, hands shifting awkwardly in his pockets.

'Cas?' he asks.

'Mm?'

'Am I... am I really an okay singer? I mean,' he adds quickly, 'I'm not trying to fish for compliments or anything, I just – I'd just kind of figured, you know, Gabe was having a hard time finding someone to play the part, and Sammy would've said anything to get me to join in, but you, uh – you liked it?'

He's looking at Cas side-on, like he can't quite bring himself to properly make eye contact. Cas tilts his head, making Dean look at him again.

'I wasn't lying before,' Cas says. 'Your voice is amazing. _You're_ amazing. And I know – I understand that you're not used to hearing it, that you're worried I'm just being kind or biased somehow, but Dean, I promise you: when the show starts, you're going to bring down the house, and then you'll have to believe it.'

Dean's eyes widen, lips parting as he scans Cas's face. And then, very slowly, he steps into Cas's personal space, puts a hand on his cheek, and kisses him.

It's gentle, almost hesitant, like he's half expecting Cas to pull away. Instead, Cas lets out a noise that could fairly be termed a groan and moves into the kiss, hands coming up to skim Dean's hips. Dean's palm slides from cheek to neck, pulling him closer, and just like that, the hesitance is gone. Dean kisses him hungrily, backing up against the wall of the theatre, forcing Cas to follow until their bodies are pressed together. Cas runs a hand through Dean's hair, and Dean _shudders_ , sucking wantonly on his bottom lip. The rest of the world just melts away, and when they finally part a little, breathing hard, Cas can't resist kissing along Dean's jaw and down his throat, featherlight touches that make the other man tip back his head and gasp.

'Cas,' he pants, 'Cas, _fuck_ –'

'Is this all right?' Cas asks, lips brushing his ear.

' _Yes_ ,' Dean groans, and hooks his fingers in Cas's beltloops, grinding against him. Castiel chokes out a plaintive noise, forehead resting on Dean's shoulder, unbearably turned on and only just remembering to give a damn that they're in the middle of the street. It's a very small damn, however, and one that disintegrates rapidly as Dean sucks a hickie onto his neck, a burst of pleasure-pain that has his eyes fluttering shut.

'Oh, fuck,' he curses, gripping Dean's hips to steady himself. 'You keep that up, and I won't stand a chance.'

'That's the idea,' Dean murmurs, dropping a kiss in the hollow of his throat. 'Christ, Cas, can we skip ahead to you saying you'll date me already?'

Cas kisses each of his eyelids in turn, then adds a third at the corner of his mouth, smiling helplessly all the while. 'I thought you'd never ask.'

'Yeah, well.' Dean grins back at him, flushed and breathless. 'Figured I'd be classy about it, make you wait a little.' He reaches up, tucking a curl of hair behind Cas's ear. 'Turns out, I suck at waiting.'

'I can live with that,' says Cas, and takes Dean's hand, kissing his fingertips.

They smile at each other, goofy and pleased, Dean's arms looped around Cas's neck.

'So,' he asks, coyly, 'you got any plans right now?'

Cas pretends to think about it. 'I think I could find an opening in my schedule.'

Dean laughs. 'You're an ass. Come grab a burger with me?'

'Sure,' says Cas, 'but I'm buying.'

Dean smiles and pulls him in again, kissing just below his ear. 'I can live with that,' he murmurs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I'm an enormous dork, have a video of me singing Dean's creepy version of I Know Things Now: http://fozmeadows.tumblr.com/post/118728351383/okay-so-im-currently-writing-a-supernatural#notes


	12. Chapter 12

Dean's been on plenty of dates before – has even seen the same person repeatedly before – but he's never actually _dated_ ; not in the official, exclusive, telling-people-we're-together-and-doing-stuff-that's-not-just-sexual way he currently is with Cas. He manages to suppress his self-consciousness about this fact for two whole days before it slips out while he and Cas are curled up on the latter's couch, watching _Pacific Rim_. A small part of Dean had worried – not unreasonably, given his past experiences – that Cas's willingness to let him set the pace would disappear as soon as Dean asked him out, but to his surprise and delight, Cas hasn't pushed, and while he's initiated his fair share of kisses, he hasn't done anything else.

Which is, of course, what ultimately trips Dean up. He's so used to being wanted for sex alone that, however irrationally, he can't help feeling selfish for delaying it.

'You think we'd be drift compatible?' Cas asks, leaning over him to reach the popcorn bowl, which is on the edge of the coffee table. 'Or would we be stuck piloting with our brothers? I mean, you and Sam, maybe, I can imagine a Winchester jaeger, but I'm pretty sure whatever bond I have with Gabriel doesn't extend to telepathic harmony.'

'We might be,' says Dean – then opens his mouth, surprised, as Cas presses a piece of popcorn to his lips. It's such a small, weird intimacy, being hand-fed, that he flushes all over, breathing coming a little faster as Castiel does it again, almost idly, until his handful is gone. Without meaning to, Dean licks the excess salt from Cas's fingers, and hears a sharp inhale behind him, feeling Cas still as Dean experimentally sucks a fingertip into his mouth, tongue teasing the pad, before letting it go again.

Slowly, Cas pulls his hand away, resting it back on the curve of Dean's hip, and kisses the nape of his neck, lingering and soft.

And that's when Dean cracks, because clearly, _clearly_ , Cas wants more than what Dean's been giving him, and if Dean were any other person, Cas would be making a move right now, and the fact that he's not is all Dean's fault, and what if he's getting tired of waiting, what if –

'Dean?' Cas asks, quietly. 'Was that all right? You've tensed up.'

'Am I enough?' Dean blurts. 'We can do more, I mean, I just –'

'Hey, whoah!' Cas cuts him off, pausing the movie with one hand as he tugs Dean's hip with the other, turning him until they're face to face. 'I'm sorry. I didn't mean –'

'Why are _you_ sorry?' Dean interrupts, confused.

Castiel pauses, frowning slightly. 'Because I made you uncomfortable?'

'You didn't, though.' Dean gulps. 'I liked the – the feeding thing. It was nice.'

'Okay,' says Cas, gaze flitting across his face. 'So what upset you?'

All at once, Dean feels very young, and very small. He shuts his eyes, pressing his face into Cas's chest. 'I haven't done this before,' he mumbles. 'The – the dating thing. And I just.... I didn't want you to feel like you were missing out. Like I was going too slow for you.'

Cas sighs in understanding, running his fingers through Dean's hair. 'It's been three days, Dean,' he says, a touch of humour in his voice. 'We're not going too slow. But even if it had been three months, whatever pace you want to set, I'm happy with that.'

Dean looks up at him. 'You want me, though. You want more of me than this.'

Cas smiles, shifting his weight down the couch until their noses are touching. 'I want you,' he says, and the words are quietly thrilling. 'But only what you're willing to give, and only when you want to give it. Not before.' He hesitates, then says, 'You ought to know, I'm not exactly experienced at this, either. I haven't dated in years, and I'm very bad at casual encounters.'

Dean snorts. 'Yeah, right.'

Cas raises an eyebrow. 'You don't believe me?'

Dean opens his mouth to say that yeah, of course he doesn't, and maybe Cas ought to look in a mirror sometime, when he catches the expression on Cas's face and falters. 'You're serious?' And then, almost wonderingly, 'You're actually serious. Holy shit.'

'I'm flattered,' Cas says, wryly.

'It's just –' Dean looks him over, searching for words, and says, 'I get you not being into casual relationships and all, but no serious stuff, either? I mean, you're this funny, smart, kind, stupidly hot writer guy – who the hell wouldn't want to sick around for that?'

'Quite a lot of people, actually,' says Cas – not sadly, but with a small, amused expression, like it doesn't bother him at all. 'Which isn't to say that nobody's ever been interested in me; quite the contrary. There's just never seemed to be much of an overlap between the kind of person I want and the people who've wanted me.'

'Oh,' says Dean. 'That makes sense, I guess.'

'If it helps, I find it equally implausible that you don't have your pick of partners.'

Dean shrugs, looking away. 'Plenty of people wanna fuck me. It's just, that's all they want.'

'Then they're idiots,' Cas says firmly. 'You're beautiful, but your body isn't what makes you extraordinary. It's who you are.' His thumb strokes gently across Dean's jaw. 'I'm not going anywhere, Dean. You're worth the wait.'

Dean swallows, feeling strangely lightheaded. 'I don't know what you see in me,' he says, putting a hand to Cas's cheek, 'but all the same, I'm glad you do.' And he pulls Cas in for a kiss.

It's slow and sweet, and Dean shifts, rolling to pull Cas on top of him, moaning into his mouth as Cas slots a thigh between his legs, his weight braced on a forearm. Since Garrison, Dean's used to feeling panicky when a parter boxes him in or gets on top, but with Cas, it's different. His solidity is reassuring, not confining; he makes Dean feel safe, like Cas's body is a shield between him and the rest of the world, which is sappy as hell but still true enough that Dean refuses to feel ashamed for wanting it. He digs his fingers into Cas's hair and arches his back, rutting up against him, feeling powerful and protected all at once, and Castiel groans and kisses him hard in response.

'Can I see you?' Dean breathes, skimming a hand down to toy with the hem of Cas's shirt. 'God, I wanna see you.'

Cas nods and leans back up, eyes fixed on Dean as he slowly pulls off his shirt. Dean's pulse quickens at the sight. Cas's body is tanned and taut, and Dean can't resist reaching for him, trailing his fingertips over the lines of his ribs, gently flicking against a nipple – Cas makes a pleased, choked sound – before moving down again.

Dean's half-hard, and as he rubs his thumb along the sharp bone of Cas's hip, he realises Cas is, too. He gulps, glancing sharply at Cas's face, looking for any signs of discontent, but Cas just smiles back, like letting Dean look at him is a turn-on all by itself.

Something warm unfurls in his chest, and for a moment, it's all he can do to just keep breathing.

'Christ,' Dean says, still staring at Cas, 'you really – you'd really be okay with just this, wouldn't you?' He splays his palm over Castiel's stomach, feeling the muscles tense and relax, the rhythm of his breathing. 'I could ask you to put your shirt back on, and you would.'

Gently, Cas cover's Dean's hand with his own, his fingers stroking his wrist. 'I would,' says Cas, 'if that's what you wanted.'

Dean licks his lips. 'And what if I wanted something else?'

'Such as?'

Dean twines their fingers together, pulling Cas back against him. 'More of this,' he murmurs, kissing along Cas's jaw. 'And then I want to suck your cock.'

Castiel shudders and smiles, pressing their foreheads together. 'Do I get to suck yours, too?'

' _Please_ ,' Dean gasps, and then they're kissing again, unhurried and deep, hips rolling together in a friction that soon has Dean fully hard and aching, desperate to be touched.

'Bedroom?' Cas asks, his pupils blown. 'I mean, we can stay out here if you'd rather –'

'Bedroom,' Dean agrees, 'definitely bedroom.'

They stumble upright, clutching each other and laughing as their eagerness almost sends the popcorn bowl tumbling, Cas's hands braced lightly on Dean's shoulders as he steers him back towards the bedroom, kissing him all the while. It's a tiny act of faith in the scheme of things, to trust Cas not to walk him into anything, and yet a new tendril of warmth curls through him as Cas stops him just short of the door in favour of kicking it open, guiding Dean through without closing it again. Not that they need it shut, of course – it's Cas's house, and he lives alone – but as Dean's entire sexual history has been conducted either behind locked doors or in makeshift spaces suffering for the lack of same, it feels like a tiny victory.

They stop at the foot of the bed, and Cas cups his face and kisses him more tenderly than anyone ever has. When they finally break apart, Cas doesn't pull Dean's shirt over his head, but undoes the buttons one by one, like he's savouring the experience, thumbs brushing across Dean's chest when he slips it off his shoulders. Cas drinks in the sight of him, his expression almost reverent, and part of Dean wants to hide, because he can't imagine why anyone would want to look at him like that. It's almost easier, in fact, just to go to his knees, but when he moves do it, Cas catches his arm and says, almost shyly, 'Can we lie down?'

'Yeah,' Dean croaks, abruptly overwhelmed in the best possible way, because he's knelt for Cas in rehearsal enough times now that he must've thought about Dean doing it for real, and yet he's still intent on giving him something else. His hands shake as he undoes Cas's fly, easing his pants and boxers down, watching dry-mouthed as Cas steps out of them, naked and unashamed while Dean is still half-dressed. And that – that's another new thing, another small imbalance subtly righted, because always before, it's Dean who's been stripped first, and Cas is still waiting for Dean's okay, a question in his eyes and a smile on his lips, like the answer doesn't matter either way.

'Undress me?' Dean asks, softly. He meets Cas's gaze, a strange, raw strength putting goosebumps on his arms, and watches as Cas moves to comply, his fingers deft where they work his jeans open, sliding both layers of fabric off his hips, until he's naked, too.

Cas leans in and kisses the corner of his mouth, the gesture almost absurdly chaste. 'Come to bed?' he asks, and when he holds out a hand, Dean takes it.

They slide in under the covers, which feels somehow more intimate than the alternative; as though their being together is something already soft with domesticity, and not so new that Dean's entire nervous system is sparking with anticipation. Cas's body is warm against his, a smooth expanse of skin between soft sheets, and again, _again_ , they're taking their time in a way that Dean never has before – or that nobody's bothered to try with him, rather – because all Cas does at first is kiss him, hands trailing gentle touches along his face, arms, sides, bringing him right back to where he'd been before. Then, with a flash in his eyes that's hot enough to ignite dead stars, he mouths his way slowly down Dean's chest, kissing and licking and sucking light hickies across his ribs, worshipping every inch of him, and for the first time in his life, Dean forgets to be self-conscious, forgets to sacrifice his own pleasure for what the other person wants, and tips his head back, legs splaying open, grips the sheets and _moans_.

'God, you're perfect,' Cas murmurs, laddering a line of biting kisses from thigh to knee, the fingers of one hand tracing a teasing pattern across Dean's groin. Dean makes an unintelligible noise, then damn near whimpers as Cas moves upwards again, his cheek brushing the tip of Dean's cock as he kisses beside the root. His clever, long fingers slide up the underside of Dean's thighs, gripping lightly – and then, with a suddenness that makes Dean bow up off the bed, Cas takes him in his mouth.

Dean's been on the receiving end of blowjobs before, but they've always been rushed, sloppy, heat-of-the-moment things, or else an obvious warmup to the main event. But Cas goes slowly, groaning as he swallows him down, his every variation designed to keep Dean on edge. He hollows his cheeks and sucks, lips sliding along his shaft as he strokes his perineum, and Dean doesn't even try to be quiet: he's gasping obscenities and Cas's name, but mostly all he can manage is _ahhh, ahhh, ahhh_ , as though his nerves are being expertly braided into a highwire for his consciousness to walk. He's practically floating, and yet he's never been so grounded in his body, his senses in total overdrive. Pleasure washes through him in waves, the intensity building and building like the arc of a Catherine wheel. He presses his shoulders into the mattress, Cas's hands keeping him anchored at the hips as his back arches up, and all he can choke out is 'Cas, I'm –' before he's coming, electric and unstoppable, brain whiting out as Cas's mouth milks him through it.

Boneless, Dean sinks back into the body he never quite left, a pleasant, blurry static in his thoughts and limbs, too heavily sated to even roll on his side, until Cas crawls up next to him and pulls him into his arms, his chest pressed to Dean's back as he tucks them both under the covers.

Dazedly, Dean says, 'But I didn't – you didn't –'

'Later,' Cas murmurs. His voice is raspy and fucked out, and he sounds so smugly pleased with himself that Dean can't muster up a counterargument. With a smile that's damn near audible, Cas kisses Dean's shoulder and laces their hands together over his stomach, his erection pressing gently against Dean's ass. 'Rest,' he says. 'I've got you.'

 _You've got me_ , Dean thinks, and lets his eyes close, safe and sure and sated in the circle of Cas's arms.

 


	13. Chapter 13

Nodding off should be impossible: it's the middle of the afternoon, Cas isn't tired, and unlike Dean, he hasn't gotten off. And yet, the second he shuts his eyes – it feels creepy, just watching Dean sleep without at least trying to do likewise – he starts drifting, lulled into relaxation by his partner's steady, even breathing. It isn't true sleep, but rather a sort of liminal state between dreams and consciousness, his thoughts pouring over themselves like grains of sand in a self-righting hourglass.

Cas knew he was gay long before his parents ever sat him down to explain, in clipped, grave tones, about the Evils of Homosexuality and how to avoid them; otherwise, he might have had a much harder time accepting it. Not that his fourteen year old self didn't still undergo a painful, awkward period of denial and self-loathing in the wake of their denouncement: for months afterwards, he'd worried the lecture meant they suspected the truth, and had desperately tried to hide it. But once the paranoia wore off – and after he accidentally witnessed Gabriel kissing Matthew Hardinger behind the school library – he slowly returned to his previous state of quiet, introspective self-acceptance.

Actually coming out, however, brought a whole new set of challenges, not least because he was a twenty-year-old virgin with zero romantic experience and a deeply ingrained sense of social awkwardness. Gabriel's self-taught approach of loudly flinging himself in the deep end of queer culture wasn't his style, and while his brother was of some help once he finally figured this out, it still took Cas a long time to understand what he liked and wanted – over three years, in fact. His first serious boyfriend, Joseph, was something of a learning curve: they had great sex, but argued constantly about everything else, and it was six mostly miserable months before Cas finally realised how poor a deal he was getting, and broke things off between them.

He'd briefly tried the casual scene again, as much to cleanse his palette (Gabriel's phrase) as to see if his newfound sexual confidence might render it more enjoyable, but stopped after his first few encounters proved consistently meaningless. After a string of lacklustre dates, he finally met his second partner, Alex, over a year later, when they struck up a conversation at the local bookstore. Inasmuch as Gabriel has a reason for thinking Cas likes twinky men, Alex is probably it: he was slender, shy and barely twenty-one to Castiel's then twenty-five, with skinny hips and big, eloquent hands. They stayed together a year, and Cas had thought they were serious right up until Alex opted to transfer to a university on the other side of the country rather than move in with him.

Cas had been heartbroken, and soon fell back into social isolation. At the time, he'd been paying off the cost of his university education by working in an obscenely well-paying but fundamentally soul-destroying marketing job, and without Alex to look forward to at the end of the day, he struggled to even get up in the morning, let alone socialise.

It wasn't a period he looked back on with any fondness, but somehow, he survived it. Five months later, he rebounded with an architect named Elliott, who was sweet and intelligent and driven in all the ways that Cas usually found attractive, and yet somehow, for all they'd been happy together, there'd never really been much of a spark. Still, they were both busy enough in their respective careers – and, Cas thought in retrospect, so equally afraid of being lonely – that it was nine months before they amicably called it quits.

By then, Cas was twenty-seven and close to paying off his student loans, which carrot he used to motivate himself to tough it out at his job. Once he was out of debt, however, he quit on the spot, told his landlord he wouldn't be renewing his lease, and accepted Gabriel's invitation to quit being a stranger already and come live with him until he could get himself in a better place, both emotionally and career-wise. With a sigh of relief that was equal parts metaphoric and literal, Cas did exactly that, embracing the chance to get paid for writing things he actually enjoyed, or which at least didn't make him loathe the entirety of the human race, and when he finally found his current flat, he set about making a home for himself.

The only downside to this new life was the conspicuous lack of sex, but when Cas thought about it at all, he wrote it off as a small price to pay for relative peace and autonomy. In the past eighteen months, he's had a single, bittersweet liaison with Elliot, who swung by to see him during a business trip, the both of them chasing a nostalgia that had never really been there in the first place, and one abortive night on the prowl with Gabriel during his first week in town, where he made out with a stranger at a bar, but didn't feel moved to take things further. And then there was Jack, whose company he regretted more or less as it was happening, and that's been it.

For the better part of two damn years, that's been it. And it's not like Cas hasn't wanted more, or thought wistfully about seeing someone again; he just hasn't had the energy to step outside his comfort zone and do anything about it.

And then he met Dean Winchester, and complacency went out the window. Castiel knew he was lonely before, but in an abstract way, like knowing there were soles to his feet: as a thing that was felt and depended upon, but seldom examined up close. But Dean makes him _ache –_ with desire, with happiness, with fear of having both those things taken away again – and even knowing now how much he wants to share his life with someone, it's not a generic yearning. He wants _Dean_ , with his quick mind and compassionate heart and his small, sly smiles that make Castiel feel like his lungs are too big for his body, and by some treacherous miracle, it's a thing he gets to have.

With that thought, he drifts closer to consciousness, smiling against Dean's skin. He's warm in Cas's arms, their legs tangled together, and where Cas's nose is pressed between his shoulders, he smells of clean sweat and popcorn, freshly-washed cotton and, very faintly, of yesterday's rain. If Castiel opens his eyes, he'll see the coloured ink of the tattoo on Dean's left shoulderblade, though he's not yet sure what the design is; a bird, maybe, or something else with wings.

Eyes opening, he nuzzles closer, dropping a pattern of light, soft kisses across the skin of Dean's back. Dean stirs at the attention, making a pleased, sleepy noise as he rolls over in Cas's arms. Blinking but not quite awake, he mouths lazily at Cas's throat, chuckling under his breath at Cas's needy inhale. He pushes closer, sucking firm kisses into Cas's jaw, hands roaming freely, until suddenly Cas is on his back with Dean braced over him.

'Better watch out,' Dean murmurs, smiling. 'I could get used to this.'

Cas reaches up, stroking a hand through his hair. 'Me, too,' he says, and it comes out raw with wanting.

Something in Dean's expression shifts, transitioning from sweet to predatory as he smirks, leaning in to suck on Cas's earlobe. 'Then I'd better make it worth your while,' he says, and pinches Cas's nipples, making him cry out as he slides down between his legs. Cas is already hard, and Dean pauses just long enough to catch his gaze before taking his cock in his mouth, sucking hard and slow.

' _Fuck_ ,' Cas gasps, because apparently everyone who's ever blown him before has just been a warmup act to what's happening now. Dean's mouth is all warm, soft suction, his lips obscene where they're wrapped around his shaft, and whatever the fuck he's doing with his tongue – a sort of counterstroke, or twist, or something similarly dexterous – is sinful enough that Utah's probably outlawed it on principle.

'Not gonna last long, if you keep that up,' Cas manages.

Dean pulls off and grins at him, his fingers sliding up Cas's thighs. 'Good,' he says, and promptly swallows him down to the root. How he manages it while still doing that thing with his tongue Cas doesn't know, but he's sure as hell not complaining. He makes a noise that can best be described as _nnnnnghhh_ , breathless with the effort of keeping pace with his own incipient orgasm, and squirms against the sheets. He glances down the length of his torso at Dean, wanting to see him, and lets out a groan when Dean stares back, his green gaze steady and beautiful.

Cas comes panting Dean's name, his whole body locking up. Trembling with aftershocks, he flops his head back on the pillow, blinking starbursts out of his eyes. Dean chuckles and crawls up his body, elbows splayed to the side as he rests his interlaced fingers on Cas's chest, his chin on the backs of his knuckles. It's a moment before Cas can look at him again, but when he does, it's like being punched: not only does Dean look sated and pleased, but there's a smear of white on his bottom lip, and as Cas watches, his tongue snakes out with provocative ease to lick it off again.

Cas grabs his forearms, hauls him up and kisses him fiercely, shivering as Dean moans into his mouth. The sound is swallowed between them; Dean kisses back, and Cas's hands slide over him of their own volition, as though he's half afraid Dean's going to disappear.

'Will you – can you stay the night?' he asks, breathlessly. He's lost all track of the time, though it feels like they napped for an hour or so.

'Yeah,' Dean says, smiling. 'I've got no place else to be.' And he rests his head on Cas's chest, content to be held again.

When Castiel came out to his parents, they said he'd fallen from grace, and in the mad rush of grief and exhilaration that followed their disowning him, he somehow got it into his head to make the statement literal. He went skydiving, jumping out of a moving plane so high in the air, the Earth was a patchwork quilt below, his whole world narrowed to a blur of speed and wind and joy as he tumbled through empty space.

As fast as free-fall was, he's falling faster now.

 


	14. Chapter 14

The week speeds by in a pleasant daze, and even when he's not with Cas, Dean barely stops smiling. Which is, he suspects, the only reason why Bobby hasn't already insisted on Cas coming to dinner, and why even Sam's teasing has tapered off: though none of them has said it out loud, they all know it's been a long damn time since Dean felt good about himself, and nobody wants to jinx it. Though Bobby frowns when Sam lets slip that Cas is nearly thirty – he'd apparently been unaware of the age gap – he refrains from passing judgement out loud, for which Dean is appropriately grateful. They'll still have to discuss it at some point, of course, but it's a tricky conversation in the making whichever way Dean cuts it, not least because, for all that Bobby correctly divined his orientation, he still doesn't know the half of Dean's sexual history.

Which information is kind of materially relevant to why Dean's so happy right now; why he trusts Cas as much as he does. He can practically see the worried wheels turning in Bobby's head ever since Sammy shot his mouth off – _guy's nearly thirty, what's he want with a teenager? Is he manipulative? Sleazy? Immature?_ – and objectively, it's fair of him to wonder. Shit, it's not that long ago that Dean was dumb enough to fall for Alistair's hinky come-ons, and he was hardly naïve when it happened. Ever since he hit puberty, he's been told often enough by older men and women that he's pretty and twinky and whatever else; he's used to being lusted after, wanted for a fuck or a fling, or flattered in a way that has nothing to do with paying a compliment and everything to do with plying his vanity in exchange for sex. Dean knows what it's like to be devalued by his partners, or objectified, or used; in fact, he knows precious little else.

But Cas is the only person who's ever been content just to hold him, or sleep beside him, or kiss him first thing in the morning; the only one who's ever given a damn about making Dean feel safe in bed, or asked his opinion on Vonnegut versus Bujold, or told him he's extraordinary, and god, he knows, he _knows_ that sounds like a pretty low bar to jump – that it _is_ a low bar, even though his messed up, self-doubting, self-hating inner voices think he doesn't deserve it – but it's more than that, too, and it _matters_. It's not just that Cas treats Dean better than anyone else ever has; it's that he makes him laugh, makes him think; leaves him flushed and gasping when they do go to bed for something other than sleep; that Cas is kind and funny and fascinating in his own right. It's everything together, and it lights Dean up like nothing and nobody ever has, until he's dizzy with it.

On Friday, they have the first group rehearsal, which is an exercise in cheerful chaos. Gabriel has them run through all the group musical numbers in order, but minus any blocking, checking the timing, seeing how they sound. Dean remembers to be shy for all of three minutes beforehand, until Cas kisses his cheek and makes a quiet joke about Gabriel wearing a summer neckerchief in lieu of a scarf, and suddenly he's not nervous any more. He sings his way through each song in turn with a smile on his face, watching Cas from the corner of his eye, and once they're done for the night, he makes a beeline for his boyfriend, tugs him in close and kisses him soundly up against the wall, ignoring Sam's embarrassed groan at the PDA – 'I don't want to see that, _god_!' – and flipping Gabriel the bird when he tells them to get a room.

He stays that night at Cas's place, and after a shower that ends up steamy in both senses of the word, they tumble into bed and sleep wrapped up in each other, waking only to wrestle over the blankets or rearrange a cramped limb.

On Saturday morning, Dean takes Cas to the tattoo parlour. He told Jo they'd be coming in sometime between ten and twelve, but wasn't more specific – which, as it turns out, is just as well, because Cas is actually nervous, and it's _adorable_. One block away, he stops in the street, head ducked, and mumbles something about not wanting to waste Jo's time. Almost, Dean laughs, but he manages to keep it in, because Cas has been nothing but patient and supportive with him, and damned if he's going to skimp on returning the favour.

'Hey,' he says, looping his arms around Cas's neck. 'You're not a waste of anyone's time, okay? Not ever. And look, if you're really having second thoughts, that's totally cool, I'm not gonna judge you, but just – even if you don't want a tattoo, it'd... I'd like it, you know, if you met Jo. She's a good friend, and you, uh –' he blushes, stumbling over the words, '– you're kinda important to me, so just, you know, let's keep walking a bit, and if – mmf!'

Cas cuts him off with a kiss, his big hands warm on Dean's waist, and Dean melts into him like they didn't wake up together. He can't get enough of kissing Cas, which is partly due to the fact that he's never sure what kind of kiss he's going to get, though all of them are good. This one is slow and sweet, and if they were indoors right now, Dean's pretty sure he'd be halfway to undressing already. They haven't fucked yet, but god, there's something in the way Cas touches him that makes him shudder with anticipation, imagining all the ways they could come apart together. He flushes hot at the thought, cock twitching in his jeans, and Cas, who's pressed close enough to feel it, gives his hips a gentle squeeze and murmurs, 'You're not making a good argument for staying outdoors.'

'Says the guy with near-permanent sex hair.'

'Is there such a thing as abstinent hair?'

'Probably,' says Dean, grinning. 'I'll bet accountants have it.'

'Fair point.' Cas kisses his cheek, and they disentangle enough to keep walking, fingers twined together. 'I do appreciate this, you know.'

'Hey, this is purely self-interested on my part. You'd look hot with ink, and either way, I get to show you off to Jo.'

'Dean Winchester,' says Cas, his tone both fond and amused, 'you don't have a purely self-interested bone in your body.'

'Does that mean you'll have to give me one, then?'

The words are out before he can stop them. Cas literally falters, and when he looks at Dean, the desire is clear in his eyes. 'Whatever you want,' he says, his voice gone hoarse. 'And whenever you want it.'

Dean shivers, licking his lips. 'Soon,' he says, and Cas nods seriously, like this isn't a completely frustrating answer, and somehow they both keep moving, one foot after the other, until they're walking through the door of Jo's shop, Harvellum.

Jo looks up at the sound of the bell, a big smile spreading over her face. Leaping down from the counter, she holds out her tattooed arms for a hug. She's tiny and lithe, her blonde hair shaved to an undercut on one side and left to fall long on the other, and whenever Dean hugs her – now as always – there's a moment when he forgets how strong she is, so that her return squeeze takes him by surprise.

'Dean!' she says, stepping back. 'Look at you, all out of bed on the weekend!'

'Oh, shut up.' He rolls his eyes. 'Cas, this is Jo. She's small and annoying, but her tattoos are awesome.'

'And don't you forget it,' says Jo, gaze narrowing thoughtfully as she sizes Cas up. He's wearing dark jeans and a plain blue tee that sets off his eyes, the fit just tight enough to emphasise his shoulders. He smiles awkwardly, holding out a hand.

'Nice to meet you,' he says.

Jo grins and shakes his hand. 'Likewise,' she says. 'Dean tells me you're thinking about a bee design?'

Steadily, Cas relaxes, letting Jo guide him through to the rear of the shop. She shows him some of the detailing on her own sleeves, walking him through the process while Dean leans back against the counter and watches. After a few minutes of conversation, Jo sits Cas down in a comfy chair with a couple of books of samples to look through, the better to pick out the kind of thing he wants. Cas flashes Dean a happy smile, then sets to browsing, the first book braced on his knees. Jo makes sure he's settled, then comes to stand by Dean, quirking an eyebrow at him.

'So,' she says, too quietly for Cas to overhear, 'what's the catch?'

Dean blinks at her. 'The catch?'

'With Cas,' says says, like this is obvious. 'I mean, not to sell you short or anything, but in my experience, good-looking dudes who associate a decade plus below their own age range come with a catch. Believe me, I've been there.' She pulls a face, then tilts her head expectantly. 'So, what is it? Clingy ex? Secret kid? Lives with his mother? Unemployed?' She wrinkles her nose. 'God, you're not his first guy, are you?'

Dean's voice comes out strangled. 'I never... I didn't say we were dating, Jo.'

She grins. 'So he's single?'

'What? No! I mean, yes, we're dating, I just –' he exhales hard, shooting her a plaintive look, '– does everyone know I'm bi? I mean, fuck, I figured I'd been so careful about it, but it turns out Sammy knew, and Bobby, and now you, apparently –'

'Oh!' Jo's hand flies to her mouth, her brown eyes wide with shock. 'Shit, Dean, I was teasing, I'm so sorry, I didn't think you were really – I mean, I figured you were _friends_ , but I didn't – I mean, he's really hot, I was trying to ask for me, but if I'd known –'

'Whoah, whoah.' Dean holds up a hand, trying to process this development. 'You, uh... you're interested in Cas?'

'I didn't know he was taken!'

'And you didn't know I was bi?'

'No! Or, well,' she amends, 'I mean, I'd be lying if I said I'd never wondered, but no, god, I wasn't fishing for confirmation.'

Dean flinches a little, shoulders hunching. 'So asking what the catch is – that was, what, your subtle way of asking if Cas has any red flags? Or is it really so strange, that someone like him might wanna spend time with someone like me?'

Jo's gaze darts from Dean to Cas and back again, a look of sympathetic horror on her face. 'Oh, Christ, Dean, I didn't mean it like that –'

'Yeah, you did,' Dean says, softly. 'It's okay. I get it.'

He looks away from her, fixing his gaze on the far wall. Jo's only three years his senior, but there are times, like now, when she manages to make him feel so much younger. God, he'd had it all worked out, how he was going to tell her – it's not like he got to come out to Sam or Bobby on his own terms, but he'd figured he could at least do it right with Jo, and instead –

'Dean?' says Jo, her fingertips featherlight on his arm. 'Hey, will you look at me?'

Jaw clenched, Dean forces himself to comply. He meets Jo's apologetic gaze and says, as steadily as he can manage, 'I know I don't deserve him. Deep down, I know that. I'm too damaged, Jo. That's the catch; it's me. It's what I am. But he makes me feel like nobody ever broke me, and however long it lasts, I'm gonna try to believe it, and I'd –' he gulps, hating the crack in his voice, '– god, I would really fucking appreciate if you'd back me on this, okay? Just, don't question it. Don't tell me how young I am, or how old he is. Just let me have this one nice thing, because god knows, I'll never have better.'

Jo opens her mouth, but no words come out. She looks like she wants to cry.

'Is everything all right?'

Dean actually jumps at Cas's approach, a hot blush warming his neck. He doesn't think they've been overheard, but Cas looks concerned, and rather than turning to Jo, he sets down the sample book he's been browsing and steps right into Dean's space, one palm gently cupping his cheek, eyes scanning him worriedly.

'Fine,' Dean croaks. 'I'm fine.' But it's a lie, and even if he didn't lean into Cas's touch as he told it, his voice would still have given him away.

'You're not,' says Cas, and kisses the corner of his mouth. 'We can go, if you want.'

His tone is perfectly sincere, devoid of censure or accusation. He's not blaming Jo, and he's not blaming Dean, either: just calmly accepting Dean's upset as a thing in its own right and trying his best to help, because that's the kind of guy Cas is.

Dean shuts his eyes, gives an incremental shake of his head. 'I just need a minute, that's all.'

Cas's lips brush his, fleeting and chaste. 'Okay,' he says, and when Dean opens his eyes again, Cas is smiling. It settles him, steadies his doubts, and somehow he finds the strength to twine their fingers together, bringing Cas's free hand to his lips and dropping a kiss on his knuckles.

'Go pick a tattoo,' he says, nodding back at Cas's chair.

'I'll do that,' Cas says gravely, but his blue eyes flash with humour as he complies, recollecting the sample book on his way.

There's a moment of silence as Cas resettles himself, and then Dean lets out a breath he wasn't conscious of holding. He looks at Jo, mentally bracing for castigation or mockery, but when she speaks, there's neither in her tone.

'I'm in your corner,' she says, voice tight with an emotion too complex to name. 'Dean, I swear – if you want him, I'll back you to the ends of the Earth, because that, him –' she flicks her gaze to Cas, clearly struggling for words, '– you're worth a guy like that. No catch required.'

Dean isn't sure he believes her, but it's a start; he'll take it. 'Thanks, Jo.' And then, reverting to type: 'So, does that mean you'll ink him for free?'

Jo laughs. 'Don't push your luck.'

'Why not?' Dean says, and grins. 'It pushed me first.'

And maybe, for once, it's pushed him somewhere good.

 


	15. Chapter 15

Castiel leaves Harvellum with a booking for the following Saturday and a promise from Jo that she'll use the intervening time to design him a custom tattoo. It's a thrilling prospect: her samples are gorgeous, and it's something he's wanted for long enough that finally going through with it makes him feel brave. He's so caught up in his enthusiasm, in fact, telling Dean about the possibilities he discussed with Jo, that they manage to walk a whole block before he remembers the incident early on. One minute, Dean had been smiling, and the next, his entire body language was inverted, like he wanted nothing so much as to curl up and hide. Cas had been out of his seat before he could stop himself, needing to make sure his partner hadn't been triggered, and while things had seemingly gone back to normal afterwards, he still doesn't know what had caused the initial upset.

'And speaking of Jo,' he says, watching Dean from the corner of his eye, 'is everything all right between you two?'

Dean startles at the question, then sighs. 'Yeah, we're good. She just... when we first came in, she didn't realise we were dating, or that I was bi, so she said some stuff that kinda rubbed the wrong way, you know? But we sorted it out. All good.' He shoots Cas a sly grin. 'It helps that she thinks you're hot.'

Castiel chuckles, then does a double-take at Dean's pointedly raised eyebrow. 'Seriously?'

'Seriously. If you swung that way, you'd be in with a shot.'

'Alas for the ladies of this world,' says Cas, dryly.

Dean laughs at that, and Castiel puts his worry aside, letting the conversation drift back to tattoos, musicals, and the all-important question of what they're having for dinner. After a short debate, they settle on pasta – it's been a long time since Cas has had someone other than Gabe to cook for, and he warms at the prospect – and then, as they turn the corner, Dean ducks his head and murmurs, 'You, uh. You should come to dinner at my place, too, next week. Bobby wants to meet you.'

'I'd like that very much,' Cas says sincerely.

'Really?'

'Really,' he says, then hesitates at Dean's sudden tension. 'Unless you'd rather I didn't?'

Dean shrugs, looking away. 'It's not that,' he says. 'Just, you know. You're older than me. Bobby's going to have questions, and I just... I don't know how to explain to him what we are, why I trust you, without bringing up all the bad stuff.'

'Dean, if anyone has to convince your uncle of anything, it's me, not you. I can handle being interrogated.'

'You shouldn't have to, though,' says Dean, jaw clenched. 'I mean, _you_ shouldn't have to, because you're _Cas_ , but if you were in Bobby's shoes? If _your_ teenage kid came home and introduced a guy who was ten years their senior as a serious boyfriend, you'd worry, right?'

Cas tilts his head, considering. 'In the abstract, maybe. But it would depend more on context, I think. If I thought my child was naïve or inexperienced, then I'd naturally worry about anyone they brought home, regardless of age. But –' he sighs, '– I can see where you're coming from.'

'That's just it, though.' Dean runs a frustrated hand through his hair. 'I mean, Bobby's not stupid, he knows I've been out with guys and girls, and he's gotta know there's stuff I haven't told him, but he doesn't – it's not just Alistair, he doesn't know any of what I've done, what I've got to compare you to, because believe me, Cas, I know from bad, okay?'

There's a gulp in Dean's voice as he says it, and on impulse, Cas pulls him to a halt. They're in the middle of the park, and he gestures Dean over to a vacant bench, an arm around his shoulders as they sit. Dean leans into the contact, but he's clearly agitated, chewing his bottom lip. He looks at Cas, then blurts out, 'How did you lose your virginity?'

The question startles a bark of laughter from Cas. 'Oh, god. You really want to know?'

'If you're okay telling me, yeah.'

'All right.' He quirks his mouth. 'I was at college, and I'd just turned twenty-one. I was very... new, still, to being out – to being intimate at all, really – and Gabriel, in his infinite wisdom, decided my lack of sexual experience was some sort of stain on his lothario's honour. So, naturally, he did what any concerned big brother would do: threw me a birthday party and invited, among others, a few men he thought I might hit it off with, all of whom he'd vetted, all of whom were under instructions to respect my choices and, if said choices just so happened to include one of them, to show me a good time.' He wrinkles his nose. 'I still can't decide if he was pimping me out to them, or pimping them out to me, but either way, it got the job done. I think the one I eventually went to bed with was called Ryan, or Richard, or something like that, and it was, ah... well, I didn't exactly have a frame of reference at the time, but in hindsight, it was passable. I was drunk enough not to be nervous and sober enough to enjoy it, and when Gabriel told me he'd set it all up, I didn't speak to him for a week. Not because I was heartbroken or anything – it's not like I wanted to see the guy again – I just hated that he'd gone behind my back.'

Dean laughs. 'God, your brother is a menace.'

'Tell me about it.'

'Seriously, I can barely think about Sammy and sex in the same sentence, let alone imagine hooking him up with someone.'

'I should hope not!' Cas exclaims. 'He's, what, sixteen?'

'Fifteen,' says Dean, 'and he's about as smooth as a cactus around Josephine, so it's not like I'm worried he's gonna do something dumb and make me an uncle before my time. 'Sides, I gave him the condoms-and-STDs talk a couple of years ago, just to be on the safe side; figured forewarned was forearmed. Didn't, uh.' He drops his gaze, scuffing the grass with his foot. 'Didn't need him making my mistakes.'

It hits Cas, then, why Dean asked about his first time, and he winces, realising too late that any reciprocal narrative is unlikely to involve quite so funny a story as his own. Dean pauses, swallowing, fingers laced loosely between his knees.

'Alistair wasn't my first fuck,' he says, and Cas lets out a breath he wasn't conscious of holding. 'But he wasn't my first dumb choice, either.'

Dean looks away, his voice soft and small. 'My first time with anyone, it was a woman. I was sixteen, and she was, uh. Twenty-four, twenty-five, I think? It was about a month before dad died, and I'd just – god, I'd just had enough, he'd barely sobered up for a fortnight, Sammy was staying at a friend's place, and I was so fucking lonely, I wanted to feel close to someone. So I went a college party I'd heard about, bluffed my way in – I told everyone I was eighteen, including her, and if anyone thought I was younger, they didn't call me on it. But she told me she was on the pill, we were fine to bareback, and I was all on board for that at first, but she kinda had a kink for it, which was, uh. Not what I'd been expecting in terms of dirty talk? Or, you know, _at all_ , and I didn't really know what to do with it, so I just shut up and let her say what she wanted, then spent the next goddamn week freaking out that I'd knocked her up or caught an STD or something. Which I hadn't, just to be clear,' he adds quickly, 'but god, it was still a dumbass thing to do.'

He hesitates, picking at the edge of a thumbnail, and when he speaks again, the words are clipped. 'First time with a guy was three days after dad died. They put me and Sammy in emergency foster care while Bobby's paperwork went through, and I was trying so damn hard to keep it together for everyone, but I was messed up, I couldn't handle it. So that night, I snuck out, took my fake ID, and I went –' his voice catches, hard, '– god, I did the stupidest possible thing. I went to this seedy club, bouncer didn't even card me. And guys bought me drinks, and I drank them, and someone offered me pills, and I took them, and I felt like a fucking hurricane, Cas, like everything hurt and nothing did, and I ended up letting some total stranger fuck me up against the bathroom wall.'

Cas's heart twists. 'Was it – were you okay?'

Dean makes a sound that isn't quite laughter. 'Oh, yeah. I was into it, I just... I wasn't all there, you know? But that was the point; I didn't want to be anywhere. So I let some guy screw me, sucked someone else off – or someones, I think; I lost a bit of time – and danced with everyone who'd touch me, and it felt like I was powerful, like I had some fucking control over my life for once. Of course, once I got home and started coming down, it was a different story, but, you know, the important thing is that I didn't get caught, and nobody saw the bruises.'

'I might disagree with you there,' says Castiel, softly.

'Yeah,' says Dean, voice rough, and rests his head on Cas's shoulder, letting out a jagged breath as Cas gently cards his fingers through his hair. They sit like that for a moment, during which Castiel forcibly swallows his own desire to talk, because he can tell, he knows there's a point Dean was making when he brought this up, and Cas doesn't want to derail it with a sympathy he can better show through touch. Seconds tick by, and then, finally, Dean lifts his head and speaks again.

'The point being,' he says, quietly, 'that Alistair wasn't just a mistake. He was part of a pattern. I get fucked up, I make bad calls, and I'm not so dumb that I don't know what I'm doing, I just – I stop caring, I get reckless, you know? But Bobby doesn't know that. He doesn't know, and I don't want him to, not ever, but when I bring you home, I don't want him to interrogate us, either. Because you're a good call, Cas. You're my only good call. And nobody should get to question that.'

The words punch into him, simple and sure. Cas looks at Dean, at the tight hunch of his shoulders, and it's all he can do to keep breathing. Carefully, he reaches up and smooths a strand of hair behind Dean's ear, then slides his hand back, fingers cupping the nape of Dean's neck. He pulls their foreheads together, breath hitching in the pause before he speaks, and something in him yearns and scratches, sharp and soft as a swallowed feather.

'They won't,' he says, and kisses him, a chaste press that steadily melts into something deeper, a slow exploration that makes him ache with wanting. He doesn't know how it happened, how Dean's already so deep beneath his skin, but it feels like a different sort of tattoo than the one he'll get from Jo, his goosebumps spelling poems in Braille that only Dean can read.

'Home,' says Dean, when they finally break apart. His lips are swollen, his fingertips gentle on Cas's cheek, his green eyes bright with a lust that mirrors Cas's own. 'Take me home.'

And it's not until hours later, when they're lying, sweaty and breathless, in the ruck of Cas's sheets, that he realises they never once questioned where _home_ was, or that it meant _together_.

 


	16. Chapter 16

 It's a Tuesday evening rehearsal, and Dean, along with a handful of cast members, is helping to paint the main backdrop under the critical supervision of the lead techs, Kevin and Charlie. Front and centre, Gabriel has Bela, Victor and Rowena running through one of their scenes, while elsewhere, Jody and the others are running lines. Painting ought to be simple work – the backdrop is a basic, shadowed cityscape, which mostly means black sky and simple bricks – but Dean can't quite focus on the task at hand. Before he and Sammy left home, Bobby dropped the latest in a series of pointed hints about Castiel coming for dinner, and Dean is running out of good-faith excuses to put it off. Sam, too, is confused by his reticence – he barely shut up about it on the drive over – but since they arrived, he's been too fixated on Josie Barnes to do anything but laugh at her jokes and make cow eyes.

'We need more orange,' says Charlie, frowning as she scrutinises the backdrop. The whole thing is laid out at the back of the stage, as opposed to being _literally_ backstage with the rest of the props and equipment, so that everyone can work in the same room. 'Kevin, do we have more orange?'

'I think there's a tin in the dressing room,' Kevin says, not looking up from his work.

'You wanna go grab it, then?'

'Hell no,' says Kevin. 'I just got comfy. You get it.'

Charlie pouts. 'You're the one who knows where it is!'

'I said I _thought_ we still had some,' Kevin counters. 'I'm not sure. Besides, you're the one who wants it.'

'Oh my god, stop talking,' Dean groans, setting down his brush. 'I'll go get it, okay? Better than listening to you nerds bicker.'

Charlie grins at him. 'You say that like you're not one of us.'

'Because I'm not,' says Dean, stretching as he comes to his feet. 'I'm a normal human.'

Sam snorts, rolling his eyes for Josie's benefit. 'Says the closet nerd with a secret hardon for LARPing.'

'I am – I do not!' Dean shoots back, but the denial is drowned out by Charlie's delighted cackle. 'Everyone knows that Halloween doesn't count –'

'Halloween, yeah,' says Sam. 'But you dress up for, like, the entirety of October.'

'You do?' asks Cas, a spark of interest in his eyes. 'What as?'

'All sorts of lame stuff,' says Sam, before Dean can get a word in edgeways. 'A cowboy, that guy from _Braveheart_ , a Prohibition-era detective, a fireman –'

'Kinky,' says Charlie, winking at Cas.

'I hate you all,' says Dean, the back of his neck flushed red, but he doesn't really mean it, and even if he did, Cas's smile is warm enough to compensate. 'I'm going to get the paint.'

'You do that, cowboy,' says Charlie, swatting affectionately at his shoulder.

Their laughter follows him down the hall to the dressing room, where, after nearly five minutes of fruitlessly rooting through the rats' nest of boxes and props that someone – probably Ash – has jammed into the corner, he finally locates a fresh tin of orange paint. He pries up the lid to check, gives a satisfied nod, and carries it back out to the stage. Cas has moved on from the backdrop, his head bowed with Gabriel's over a copy of the script, but everyone else is still chatting happily. Rather than interrupt to ask where Charlie wants the paint – she's picky about her work setup – Dean waits on the outskirts of the group, trying to pick up the thread of the conversation.

'Are you serious?' Sam says, pulling a face at whatever Charlie just said.

'Hand to god,' says Charlie. 'Same sex schools are the _worst_. I mean, from a lesbian perspective, sure, I was happy as a clam, but the rest of the time? _Ugh_.'

'Our school's not so bad,' says Josie, giving Sam a friendly bump with her shoulder. Sammy blushes to the roots of his hair, and Dean grins, savouring his brother's embarrassment.

'Yeah, because you go to a non-crappy state school,' Charlie says. 'Whereas private schools are universally creepy as hell.'

'They can't all be bad,' says Sam, as if he'd know, but Kevin cuts him off with a shake of his head.

'Nuh-uh. Believe me, they're the worst. My cousin Lee goes to Garrison, and if even half the stuff he's told me about that place is true, I wouldn't touch it with a ten foot pole.'

'Dean went to Garrison, too,' says Sam, and it's a testament to Cas's influence that Dean doesn't totally freeze up.

'He did?' says Kevin, surprised – then glances up, finally noticing Dean's presence. 'You did?'

'I did,' says Dean, proud of how calm he sounds. 'Until they kicked me out.' He lofts the paint tin, gripping it just a little more tightly than needs be, and tries to change the topic. 'So, where do you want this?'

'Here,' says Charlie, motioning beside her, but Kevin's not so easily dissuaded.

'So you know what I'm talking about, right?' he says, glancing from Dean to Sam and back again. 'I mean, the principal is like, the king of bad touch – Lee says it's like a running joke, how the school board won't let him be alone with students any more –'

Dean drops the paint tin.

The sudden _bang!_ goes off like a gunshot, silencing the stage. He stares at the spreading pool of orange, his breathing hard in his own ears. He swallows, too loud, and forces himself to look at Kevin, hands pressed flat to his thighs to stop them shaking.

'When?' he croaks. 'When did they – why – when?'

Kevin's brows draw together. 'When did they what?'

Dean can barely talk; he's not even sure how he's still upright. From the corner of his eye, he can see Cas moving, but he's too far away, and he already feels like he's falling.

'The Board,' says Dean, unable to keep the shake from his voice. 'When did they stop Sharp – Alistair – when did they finally – I mean, they said – they told me, I – they're _protecting_ him? Again? Still?'

'Dean?' Sam asks, his voice high and tense. 'What are you talking about?'

'Oh, fuck,' Charlie whispers, horrified. Kevin's face goes white as a sheet as Josie claps a hand over her mouth, but even so, it takes Sam another two seconds to get it; seconds where he stares at Dean, pained and disbelieving, like he's waiting for an explanation that never comes, because Dean just crumples, and the only reason he doesn't fall completely is because Cas catches him, scooping an arm around his waist and hooking him back against his chest. Part of Dean wants to cling to Cas, but he feels too disconnected from his own body to manage it. Instead, he slumps against him, quiet and faint, his skin burning cold as his thoughts race.

He's dimly aware that Cas is moving him, talking to him, asking him to respond, but he's paralysed. He can't even process that Sammy knows – that _everyone_ knows, which feels like it ought to be terrifying – because he's stuck on the fact that the _Board_ knows; or worse, that the Board _knew_ , and that Alistair Sharp apparently has enough of a reputation in either case that they ought to have taken him seriously, but didn't. _What if I wasn't the first?_ Dean thinks, and that's bad enough; that's enough to leave him shaking. But then he has an even worse thought, and it damn near stops him breathing.

_What if I wasn't the last?_

He claws away from Cas, takes two shaky steps, comes down his knees and retches. Bile burns his throat, but nothing solid comes up, which is a goddamn relief, and then Cas's hand is on his back, stroking soothing circles between his shoulders. Dean wants to wrench away from the contact, but his traitor body won't let him. All this time, he'd never let himself wonder if Alistair was a serial predator, because in some deeply fucked-up way, that would've meant admitting that Dean wasn't special; that he hadn't even mattered enough to be unique. Even when he'd worked through the scene with Cas and Gabe and finally, belatedly understood that the rape had been about power, not lust, he still hadn't taken the next logical step to wondering if Alistair had exercised it against other people either before or since, because if he had –

If he has, then Dean's silence makes him complicit in Alistair hurting someone new.

'Oh god,' he says. The words come out with a hiccup. 'God, I should've known.'

Cas puts an arm around him, and this time, Dean doesn't fight it. A raw noise escapes his throat, and then he buries his face in Cas's shoulder, clinging on tight. He doesn't want to look at anyone right now, can't bear the thought of them looking at him, but even though he tries to block it out, he knows the whole cast is standing and staring, a ripple of concerned gossip spreading outwards like a susurrating shockwave.

'Dean?' Cas murmurs, soft in his ear. 'It's okay. I've got you. Tell me what you need.'

Dean shuts his eyes, the closed lids pressed to the cotton of Cas's shirt. Nearby, he can hear Sam yelling at Kevin: 'Why the hell would you even _say_ something like that?'

 _'_ I don't know!' Kevin says, distraught. 'I _didn't_ know! I'm sorry!'

'You didn't know either though, right?' asks Josie, an uncertain lilt in her voice. 'Sam? Did you?'

His brother doesn't answer, and it's that tiny, painful silence that prompts Dean to pull back from Cas's embrace and say, in a voice just loud enough to carry, 'No. He didn't know.'

Sam isn't crying, but his eyes are red, his jaw tense. He looks at Dean, then flicks his gaze to Cas. 'I didn't,' says Sam, his inflection making it not quite a question, 'but you did.'

'He had to,' says Dean, a lump in his throat. 'Gabriel, too.'

' _Gabe_ knew?' Sam says, betrayed.

'Sammy, think about it.' He stares at his brother, willing him to understand. 'What role am I playing?'

Sam's eyes go wide as saucers. 'Oh god, Dean. _That's_ why you were freaking out?' His voice wobbles. 'Jesus, the whole time I was getting you to do the part, you were dealing with this, and you just – why didn't you _say_ something?'

Dean's throat is impossibly tight. 'I couldn't,' he says, and he's shaking again, his fingers twisted in Cas's shirt. 'I just – I _couldn't_ before, okay? But I can, now. I have to.'

He looks at Cas, at those gorgeous blue eyes, and sees nothing but faith and trust. Dean bumps their foreheads together, takes a deep breath, then levers himself to his feet, Cas standing a heartbeat later. Dean straightens his back and scans the room, takes note of which cast members can't quite look at him and which ones can't look away, until he finds Jody Mills, who meets his gaze, calm and unflinching.

Pulse hard in his throat, Dean steps away from Cas, past Sam and Kevin and Gabe and Charlie, and says, in a voice that crackles with grief, 'Sheriff Mills. I'd like to report a rape.'


	17. Chapter 17

Dean exits the theatre with the straight back of a principled man on the way to his own execution. Jody walks two steps behind, a motherly arm around Sam's shoulders, murmuring quietly in his ear, while Castiel follows after. The last thing he hears is Gabriel calling the cast to order, but whether the rehearsal goes on without them or just devolves into gossip, he doesn't know; and then they're outside, and then they're all in Jody's car, the four of them driving silently, and then they're at the sheriff's station, and Cas and Sam are asked to take a seat in the waiting area.

Sam looks up at his brother like his whole world's collapsing. 'You don't want us in there with you?'

'Sammy –' Dean starts, then drops to his haunches, putting them eye to eye. 'When we get home, I'll tell you whatever you want to know. I promise, okay? But what I've gotta do right now, it's going to be hard, and it's going to be messy, and if you're there, you're going to have questions, and I can't –' he pauses, catching himself, teeth snagging his bottom lip, '– I just need you to wait this one out, all right?'

'Can I call Bobby?' Sam asks, a hint of challenge in the question. 'He ought to be here for this.' And then, more softly, 'He'd want to be here for you.'

Dean sucks in a ragged breath, gaze flicking briefly to Cas. 'I'll understand if you do,' he says, after a moment. 'But, Sam, he's going to want answers, and you're not going to be able to give them to him. When we get home, I'll lay it all out for both of you, and if you do call, you can tell him I said so. But I'd really... I'd appreciate it, if you waited. He should hear it from me.'

Sam hangs his head and nods, listless and frustrated, but when Dean pats his shoulder, he doesn't pull away from the touch. Dean makes a tiny noise – acceptance, maybe – and turns to Cas. He's trying so hard to be calm, Cas knows, but just for a second, the mask slips, and there's naked fear in Dean's eyes, a silent plea for comfort.

Cas squeezes his hand, looking straight at Dean. 'I'll stay with Sam,' he says, meaning, _I'll look after your brother_. 'I'll be right here.' _You know where to find me_. 'Take as long as you need.' _I'm not going anywhere._

Dean grips his fingers, a tremulous smile on his face. 'Thanks, Cas.'

And then he straightens and nods at Jody, the mask slipping back into place. The Sheriff leads him into an interview room, and he doesn't falter.

It's the bravest thing Cas has ever seen.

Beside him, Sam kicks angrily at the carpet. His phone is gripped tight in one hand, the other toying restlessly with a hole in his jeans. He stares at Cas from under his fringe, defiant and angry and hurt, and somehow Castiel finds himself saying, 'He didn't mean to tell me, you know.'

Sam's head jerks up, his hazel eyes narrowed suspiciously. 'You mean you tricked it out of him?'

Cas sighs, resisting the urge to put a hand on Sam's shoulder, the motion too close to Dean's own gesture of comfort. 'I mean, we tried to rehearse the blocking for the Wolf attacking Red, and it triggered him. He basically had a panic attack, and he was trying to say that I hadn't hurt him, but in doing so, he let slip that someone else had.'

'Oh,' says Sam, in a very small voice.

'He told me the details later,' Cas says, gently. 'And he gave me permission to tell Gabriel, so he'd understand if we had to change the blocking. But that was it.'

They're silent for a moment, the noise of the sheriff's station little more than a background burr. Sam stares at his phone, puts it down, picks it up again.

'Our dad used to hit us,' he says, not looking at Cas. 'Not all the time, but if he was drunk enough, he'd change. It was like a horror movie, sometimes. Like he was possessed.' His thumb sweeps nervously over the phone case, back and forth, back and forth, and he's clearly trying so hard to keep his voice unaffected, but his teenage vocal chords betray him, cracking on his brother's name. 'Every time it happened, Dean stepped in for me. Literally stepped in, I mean, he'd put himself between me and dad, or get me out of the house if he saw it coming. I didn't understand the first couple of times he sent me off to the shops or the movies or whatever, but then I'd come home, and he'd be limping a bit, or bruised, and he'd act like it was no big deal, like he'd laugh or whatever, and I'd just –'

He breaks off, jaw working soundlessly for a moment, then says, 'He keeps secrets from me. He always has done. Always will, maybe. And I hate that he feels he has to, I know he just wants to protect me, but I'm not a kid any more, and he needs protecting too, or just – just someone who knows him properly, right? And I wanted it to be me.' He looks up, tears in his eyes. 'I should've trusted him, Cas. I should've known that he wouldn't cheat on some stupid test, that he didn't deserve to get kicked out of Garrison – he got better when we came to live with Bobby, but the past year, he's been so much worse, and I should've known it was something bad – I should've seen it – I should've _helped_ –'

'It's not your fault,' says Cas, and when he puts a tentative arm around Sam's shoulders, the boy leans into him and cries, completely silent despite his shaking. With a lurch of intuition he can neither deny nor articulate, Cas suddenly understands that Sam has trained himself to be quiet this way; to cry without being overheard by father or brother or surrogate uncle, keeping his grief in check.

As quickly as he started, Sam stops, wiping his eyes with the back of his wrist. Most of the time, it's easy to think of him as puppyish, but as he sits up straight, there's iron in his eyes, a hard composure that hints at the sharper lines of his adult face.

'If you ever hurt my brother,' Sam says, levelly, 'I'll hurt you.'

'I believe you,' says Cas. 'But I promise, I won't hurt Dean.'

Sam appraises him, then nods. 'Well. Good, then.'

Cas flicks his gaze to the station door, trying not to think about Dean being in there with Jody. He knows why he has to wait with Sam, but he chafes at it, hating that he can't be there to help. He swallows, fighting the urge to text his own brother for comfort, and looks at Sam's phone instead.

'Are you going to call your uncle?' he asks.

Sam kicks his heel against the chair leg, hard. 'No,' he says, unhappily. 'I hate that he isn't here, and I don't think it's fair to keep him in the dark, but I'm not gonna make Dean deal with more than he already is.'

'I think that sounds... very reasonable,' says Cas.

Sam makes a frustrated noise. 'Yeah. Reasonable. Like any of this is.'

'I didn't mean –'

'I know.'

Cas stares at the floor, uncertain of what to say. He doesn't know if he should be comforting Sam, or trying to reassure him, or maybe just distracting him, and there's nothing on Sam's face to clue him in. Based on their previous interactions, Cas had assumed that Sam is an open book, especially compared to Dean, but now that it actually matters, the younger Winchester is proving surprisingly hard to read. Or, no, that's not quite right; he's hardly emotionless, and it's easy to see when he's feeling something. But what he feels and what he thinks are clearly two different things, and given how easily he checked his tears, it makes Cas wonder what else he's controlling; how much of Sam is an iceberg. He's nakedly compartmentalised in exactly the way Dean isn't, and despite his youth, Cas thinks you'd have to be very foolish indeed to underestimate Sam Winchester.

'Was it bad?' Sam asks, suddenly.

The question catches Cas off guard. 'I'm sorry?'

Sam winces a little, shoving his fringe away from his eyes. 'I mean, obviously it was _bad_ , I'm not trying to minimise it or anything, I just – there's bad and there's _bad_ , like our dad hitting us was bad, but it wasn't torture, and I can't even – I can't even picture it, I don't _want_ to picture it, but all I've got in my head right now is terrible shit from movies, like _Deliverance_ or _Pulp Fiction_ or whatever – I mean, this is going to sound so awful, but it's just, with two guys –' a slight blush darkens his cheeks, '– I mean, I sort of understand the mechanics, but that's not the problem, it's that I know Dean, I know he can fight, I know he can protect himself, and in movies, whenever it's men getting hurt like that, they always make it seem like you'd need a group just to take down one guy, just to make him stop fighting, and I'm not saying he didn't fight or that he wanted it or anything stupid like that, I'm just –' he clenches his hands, long fingers curling and straightening, '– I want to understand, and I _don't_ , you know?'

Cas lets out a breath. He feels woefully unequipped to respond, but there's no one else here, and Sam is tense as wire, one leg jittering beneath his elbow.

'Sam –' he starts, already floundering, '– I, uh. Oh, god.' He runs a hand down his face. 'Do you have any female friends?'

'Yeah?' says Sam, like he can't see the relevance of the question.

'Okay,' says Cas. 'Right, okay. And if you were here for one of them – if a girl you knew was in this position instead of Dean, would you feel the same way? I'm not accusing you of anything,' he adds quickly, as Sam starts to frown, 'I just need to know if you're more perturbed by the idea that someone you think of as strong and capable could be raped –' Sam flinches a little at the word, '– or if it's specifically because of Dean's gender.'

Sam picks at the hole in his jeans again. 'I don't know. Both, I guess. I mean, we learned about sexual assault in school, but it was only about girls protecting themselves from guys, and even that wasn't really very helpful – I mean, Josie's friend Krissy got so mad, she said it was sexist, like everything they suggested was about girls changing their behaviour instead of telling guys not to rape, and she was right, you know, it was total bullshit. And the stuff they were telling the girls to look out for, it was either strange guys at parties who'd roofie their drinks or strange dudes in bushes who'd leap out and grab them, like you'd have to be ambushed for it happen at all, right? But Josie told me, we looked it up, how most victims know their rapists, and I thought, okay, so maybe that's why they only focussed on stranger danger, because otherwise, they'd have to tell girls not trust their friends or family members or teachers, but that's what I don't get, that's what's tripping me up. Because Dean barely trusts _anyone_ , let alone some private school principal, and if a stranger tried something like that, he'd kick their ass, so I don't, I can't figure out how the guy even got close enough to try unless it was _really_ bad, like he drugged him or tied him down or there was more than one of them –'

'It wasn't like that,' says Cas.

Sam's voice cracks again. 'Then what _happened_?'

'Sam,' says Cas, gently, squeezing his shoulder. The boy goes quiet, looking at Cas with this terrible mix of hope and fear, and Cas doesn't know what to say to him, doesn't know how to explain emotional manipulation and victim blaming and self-hatred, fear and shock and abuse of power. He wets his lips, struggling for words, and finally says, 'Sometimes, the worst way you can hurt someone is to make them think they _deserve_ to be hurt. You don't need chains or drugs for that; just cruelty that's subtle enough to feel like kindness, right up until it doesn't.'

Sam opens his mouth, but no words come out. He looks like he wants to argue, but then he pales, a horrified sort of understanding creeping into his features, as though he's been handed a puzzle-piece he didn't know was missing. He nods, quick and tight, and hugs himself, his big hands cupping his elbows.

'Our dad didn't really do kind,' he says, the words a soft gulp. 'But I always had Dean for that. He didn't have anyone.'

'He had you,' says Cas, gently. 'And your uncle Bobby.'

Sam looks at him. 'And now he has you, too.'

They share a watery smile, and wait out the rest of the time in silence.

 


	18. Chapter 18

 Dean talks in a monotone, the words staticky in his own ears. Jody's voice is gentle when she questions him, but never pitying. He tells her all the details he never told Cas, as much as he can remember: the first time Alistair propositioned him, kissed him, fucked him, when and where and how. He doesn't remember all the dates, but he knows when it started, and he sure as hell knows how it ended. When he details the rape itself and the Board's reaction, he tries to keep himself steady, but he doesn't even recognise his own voice, it comes out so flat and scraped. He sees anger flash in Jody's eyes, and hopes it's not directed at him, that she doesn't think he's wasting her time, but even if she doesn't believe him, Cas does, and Sammy does, and at least he'll know he tried.

'And that's it,' he says. 'They didn't believe me, they kicked me out, and I wasn't going to say anything because I figured it was all my fault, but doing the play, the scenes that I've got, acting out an assault, they brought it all up, and I freaked. But Cas, he's been helping me work it all through, and when Kevin said what he did about Garrison, that the Board won't let Alistair be alone with students any more, that he's always had a rep? I thought, shit, it's one thing to burn myself over what he did, but if he tries it again, there ought to be a record that he's done it before, so if he fucks with someone else and they're strong enough to come forward, he can't just shrug it off. But I guess that only works if you believe me.' He swallows, staring at his hands.

Jody pauses. Between them, the tape recorder hisses gently.

'Just let me clarify something,' she says. 'You brought these accusations, in person, to a full meeting of the Garrison School Board?'

'Yes.'

'A meeting which was, presumably, being minuted?'

'Yes.'

'At which Mr Sharp claimed that you'd repeatedly propositioned him via email, then threatened you with suspension if you apologised for your conduct and expulsion if you didn't?'

'Yes.'

'But the official record states that you were expelled for cheating?'

'Yes.'

'Were you ever given the opportunity to defend yourself against that accusation?'

'You mean, did they ask me to prove I didn't cheat?'

'Yes.'

'No,' says Dean, hands shaking where he presses them to the table. 'Hell, they never even told me what test I was meant to have cheated on. But Alistair – Mr Sharp – he'd already told me he'd been fixing my grades since day one, and at the time, I was stupid enough to believe him. So I figured he'd just shown the Board his changes and said that I was responsible.'

'But you no longer believe this is the case? You don't think your grades were ever actually altered?'

'Not since I talked it through with Cas. His parents are Garrison alumni, so he knows a bit about the school, and he told me he didn't think it was possible for Alistair – for Mr Sharp – to have done what he claimed he did.'

'And since your expulsion, you've had no contact with anyone from the school?'

'No.'

'Nobody at all? Not even your classmates?'

'I never made any friends,' says Dean, softly. 'And once I was gone, they didn't want me back. So, no. There's been nobody.'

'And – just to reiterate – you were legally a minor when all this occurred, correct?'

'I was seventeen, yeah. I didn't turn eighteen until after they kicked me out.'

'Do you have any additional comments you'd like to make?'

'No.'

'All right,' says Jody. 'Thank you, Mr Winchester. Interview concluded at –' she glances at the clock, cites the time and date and her own credentials, then switches off the recorder.

Total silence fills the room, as heavy and blank as snowfall.

'The problem with being a sheriff,' Jody says, almost idly, 'is that you're an elected official. You poke the bear without evidence, the bear pokes back. The bear can, in fact, threaten to fire you, because the bear is a prominent school with powerful friends, and wealthy folks don't like scandal.'

She takes a long, deep breath, and looks Dean square in the eye. 'Six years ago, a female student at Garrison accused Alistair Sharp of sexual harassment. The sheriff's department got involved, but before we could prove anything, the girl's parents had her retract her statement, and when we tried to look into why, the school closed ranks. For a while, there was nothing. Then, four years ago, a senior Garrison student hanged himself in the principal's office right before term started – he broke in to do it, went to all the trouble of picking that room in particular, and yet there was apparently no suicide note. When we questioned his classmates, it was suggested that he'd been close to Alistair Sharp, but nothing concrete; nothing we could prove.'

'Holy shit,' Dean whispers.

Jody's eyes flash in agreement. 'Three months ago, there was another incident. Nothing on the official record, of course – they hate to call us in – but Kevin Tran's mother is a friend of mine, and her nephew, Lee, apparently brought it up at a family gathering. According to him, an exchange student complained to his parents about Mr Sharp's behaviour, and while the nature of the problem was never made clear – there was a lot of gossip, but again, nothing tangible – the student headed home immediately afterwards, which was two months ahead of schedule. Then, the next day, there was a full assembly informing the student body that it's now against the rules for individual students to be alone with members of staff unless the door is open or there's another person present. Not that anyone mentioned Mr Sharp by name, of course, but the timing speaks for itself.'

Dean feels faint, his stomach churning sickly. 'And you can't do anything to stop him?'

Jody smiles, sharp and victorious. 'I couldn't before,' she says, 'but thanks to you, I can.'

Dean blinks, certain he's misheard her. 'What?'

'Your statement, Dean. It's what I need to go after him – after the whole damn school.'

'But it's just my word,' he says, heart racing. 'I don't have any evidence.'

'Not physical evidence, no,' says Jody. 'But Dean, you spoke up at a Board meeting, and that will have been minuted, put on record – written proof that a serious allegation was raised against Alistair Sharp, and that the school did nothing to investigate it. Hell, the fact that they expelled you is a smoking gun all by itself, and if there's a discrepancy between what the Board minutes say about your actions and the official record of your expulsion, then that's grounds for a proper investigation to prove gross misconduct.'

'You can – you'll really look into it?'

'Can and will, and god willing, I'll nail the fucker.'

Abruptly, Dean's on the brink of tears. 'You believe me?' he croaks.

Jody's face softens. 'Oh, sweetheart,' she says, 'of course I do, of course,' and in a second, she moves around to his side of the desk, pulling him upright into a rough, tight hug. Dean lasts a full two seconds, then crumbles utterly, sobbing into her shoulder. He can't keep it in; he's tried so hard to be calm, to tell the truth, even though he didn't really think it would matter – didn't think she'd be able to use it, even if she believed him – and now, it's all too much. He doesn't have too many memories of his mother alone, but the clearest one is of climbing into her lap not long after Sammy was born, crying over a skinned knee as she rocked him and sang and stroked his back, and it snaps something in him, some small, brittle bone, to be reminded of it now. He sobs even harder, and Jody doesn't sing, but she rubs his shoulders and tells him _it's all right, Dean, you did good, you're good_ , and just for a moment, he'd swear he could smell his mother's perfume.

'I'm sorry,' he chokes out, 'I'm sorry, I'm so sorry –'

'Shh,' she says, 'it's okay, honey. You take as long as you need, you don't apologise for this.'

Dean shakes his head. 'I should've come in sooner. That exchange student –'

'Not your fault,' says Jody, firmly. She sets her hands on his shoulders and steps back, tilting her head to look at him. 'You hear me, Dean? You're not responsible for anything that man did.'

'But I –'

'No,' she says. 'You're not, and that's an end of it. Are we clear?'

Almost, Dean wants to argue the point. But he thinks of Cas, who'd probably tell him the same thing, and Sam, who's waiting on an explanation, and he swallows his doubts for long enough to nod.

'We're clear,' he rasps, and Jody smiles at him, steady and sure.

'Good,' she says. 'Now, do you need a moment, or do you want to get out of here?'

Dean wipes his eyes, then hesitates. 'Do I have to keep quiet about this? I mean, pretty much the whole cast saw what happened, but if they ask for details –'

'You tell anyone who asks exactly what you're comfortable with. No more, no less. There's a judge who owes me a favour, and if I play my cards right, I'll be up at that school with a search warrant first thing tomorrow morning.'

Dean smiles for the first time in what feels like hours. 'You're kinda badass, you know that?'

'Of course,' says Jody, grinning. 'I'm the goddamn sheriff.'  


	19. Chapter 19

When Dean and Jody finally reappear, Cas feels like he's aged a hundred years. The door to the waiting room opens, and he's on his feet before he's even consciously registered the sound of the handle turning. Dean's eyes are red and wet, but he's smiling, and there's a look on Jody's face that tells him everything he needs to know about her intentions towards Alistair Sharp.

'Dean!' says Sam, and practically flings himself forward, wrapping Dean in a gangly hug. Dean hugs him back, but he locks eyes with Cas over his brother's shoulder, and when Sam finally moves aside, it's like two magnets snapping together: Cas steps in, and Dean steps in, and Cas cups his face and kisses him like he's starved for oxygen, thumbing gently at the half-dried tears on his cheeks. Dean grips his shirt with both fists and holds on, kissing back with an urgency that rocks Cas on his heels. Slowly, Cas's hands skim down to Dean's shoulders, and then to his back, and Dean does likewise, breaking the kiss to lean his temple on Cas's cheek as they hold each other, perfect and inviolate.

'You want me to drive you boys home?' says Jody.

'Sure,' says Dean, a question in his eyes as he looks at Cas: _will you come, too?_

Cas smiles and nods in silent answer, and Dean smiles back, understanding.

Beside them, Sam snorts. 'So what, you guys are psychic now?'

'These aren't the droids you're looking for,' says Cas – and so does Dean, their voices overlapping with flawless synchronicity. Their eyes widen as they stare at each other; Sam bursts out laughing, and Cas almost joins him, except that Dean grabs him and kisses him again, deep and filthy and far too quick, so that when he pulls back, Cas's head is spinning.

'You guys are gross,' says Sam. 'Also, I call shotgun!'

He starts up for the station door, and as Jody moves to follow him, she favours Cas with a motherly eyeroll.

'Hands above the belt in my backseat, you two,' she says, and Castiel blushes, tucking Dean against his side as they start to walk.

He wants to say, _I'm proud of you_ , but doesn't, fearful of sounding patronising or paternal or something else you shouldn't ever be to your partner, especially when they're younger than you and your feelings aren't the point. Instead, he presses a kiss behind Dean's ear and murmurs, 'You'd make an excellent Jedi.'

'Oh yeah?' says Dean. 'Who says I'm not already?'

'Touche,' says Cas. 'But either way, you're extraordinary.'

Dean grips his waist, holding their bodies close together. 'He's hurt other people,' he says, a gulp in the words. 'Some before me, at least one after. But Jody thinks she can get him.'

'I wouldn't bet against her,' says Cas, flicking his gaze to the sheriff as they cross into the carpark. 'Or against you.'

Dean stops, his expression a mess of conflicting emotions. 'I still have to tell Bobby,' he says. 'And Sam.'

Cas reaches down and twines their fingers together. 'Whatever you need me to do –'

'Just stay,' Dean says, and it almost comes out a question. 'I just... I need you, Cas. I don't know how they'll react to all this, but it's going to be hard, and I'm so damn tired, you know?'

'I'll stay,' says Cas, voice strangely hoarse. 'However long you want me there, I'll stay, and if you want to go, I'll take you –' _home_ , he almost says, like they did at the park, '– wherever you want to go.'

Dean leans into him, nodding against his collarbone, and Castiel's throat tightens. He's never considered himself to be particularly strong or self-assured; he's certainly not a fighter, and it's been so long since he's had someone, he'd given up calling himself a lover. But Dean makes him want to be all those things, so that Cas is fit to stand between him and the world. He feels possessive, protective, and for an absurd moment, he finds himself wishing he had wings, the better to shelter them both.

'You guys coming?' Jody calls.

Castiel kisses Dean's temple. 'You ready?'

Dean sighs. 'As I'll ever be.'

They clamber into the back of Jody's car, and although she raises an eyebrow when Cas opts to sit in the middle seat, the better to keep an arm around Dean, she doesn't say a thing.

 

*

 

Bringing Cas home unannounced is hard enough; explaining why Bobby has to delay interrogating him is worse.

Jody stays to help, which endears her to Dean as even her faith in him didn't. Her rank has weight with Bobby, and when Dean tries and fails to explain about Alistair's ugly history, she takes over from him, holding Bobby's gaze and keeping it as his expression shifts from worried to outraged to downright scared, because there's only one place this story can be going, and he clearly wishes like hell it was somewhere else.

Dean's voice cracks when it's his turn to talk, and he knows he should look at Bobby or Sam, but he can't, he just can't. They're crowded into the tiny kitchen – everyone standing, tense and grave – and Dean clings on to Cas's hand and says, in as few yet truthful words as possible, _I was lonely and tired and damaged, and I trusted a man who only made me moreso; I didn't think I was worth better, and when he hurt me and threw me away, I was too ashamed to admit it._

Sam looks pale, his bottom lip trembling as he holds himself still against Dean's confession, but it's Bobby's reaction that hurts the most; unflappable, taciturn Bobby, whose poker face is the stuff of legend, who's looking at Dean like every word is breaking his heart.

'I'm sorry,' Dean says, and it comes out a rasp. He's so fucking tired, his throat so raw from swallowing tears, that he almost tastes blood in his mouth. 'I should've – I should've known better, I should've told you, I just, I thought it was all my fault –'

'Don't you say that,' Bobby says gruffly, and pulls Dean into a one-armed hug, his calloused fingers gripping the back of his neck. There's an uncommon shake in his voice, and Dean feels sick at having put it there, but he leans into Bobby just the same, Cas's grip slipping as Sam joins in and hugs them both, and it ought to be comforting, cathartic; it ought to make him feel loved and whole, but he hasn't got any strength left. He's utterly numb, and when his brother and uncle step back, he sways on his feet, grabbing blindly for Cas's support and somehow finding it.

'I don't –' Dean starts, then gathers himself, looks Bobby in the eye. 'I know you'll want me to stay. Want me safe with you, under your roof. But I can't, Bobby. I just can't.' He drops his gaze, too tired to be embarrassed. 'I can't sleep alone tonight.'

Bobby makes a choked, disbelieving noise. 'Boy, if you think I'm letting you out –'

' _I'm not a boy!_ ' Dean snaps, head jerking up of its own accord. He flushes, suddenly angry, and Bobby's eyes widen at the shift in tone. 'You call me that like I've ever been young; like I've ever had the goddamn luxury of it. Well, I haven't, I don't, and I'm not, but Alistair –' he falters, wilting again, '– he called me that, Bobby. He called me _boy_ , and I know you didn't mean it like that, and I know you don't know Cas, but he's the reason I'm telling you any of this, okay? He's good for me, and I need him.' And then, more softly, 'I'm so damn tired, Bobby. Don't make me fight for this.'

Silence falls, heavy and awkward. Dean feels like he's run a marathon up an active volcano, and when Cas puts an arm around him, pulling him back against his chest, it's the easiest thing in the world to lean against him, letting Cas take some of his weight. He's still half-watching Bobby, though, and registers the moment when his uncle turns his fiercest glare on Castiel.

'I'm gonna say this once,' growls Bobby. 'You do anything other than help my kid – if you make him regret me letting him out my door – then so help me god, I will _end_ you.'

Jody raises a hand. 'Local sheriff, standing right here.'

Bobby glances at her, humphs, rolls his eyes. 'Metaphorically, then. I will _metaphorically_ end you with my very _literal_ shotgun –'

'Still the sheriff!'

'– in a very legal yet _very menacing_ way. Capiche?'

'I capiche,' says Cas, just seriously enough that, despite everything, Dean manages a weak chuckle.

'Nerd,' he mumbles, pressing his forehead to Cas's collar.

'Your nerd,' Cas agrees, kissing his temple. And then, to Bobby, 'I'll bring him back tomorrow.'

'It's cool,' says Sam, before Bobby can answer. He still looks wan, but his mouth is quirked in a smile. 'You guys go be gross together.'

'You want a lift? Again?' Jody asks, and it's such a relief to have the matter taken care of, Dean just nods.

Mumbling goodnights to Sam and Bobby, he lets Cas usher him out to Jody's car. As before, they both climb into the back, and as before, Cas takes the centre seat, both arms looped around Dean as he murmurs directions to his flat. Jody drives without complaint or comment, and within fifteen minutes, she pulls up opposite Cas's building, unbuckling her seatbelt to turn and look at them both.

'You did a brave thing tonight,' she says, catching Dean's eye. 'Several brave things, in fact. Now, go get some rest, and let me get on with nailing the bastard.'

'Yes ma'am,' Dean says weakly, and stumbles out of the car, an arm around Cas's shoulders as they head inside.

He's two steps into the flat when everything hits at once. It's like a panic attack, but without the panic: a seizing debilitation that sets him on his knees the second Cas turns away to lock the door. Dean tries to take a deep breath, but there's not enough air in the room; either that, or his lungs have shrunk. Instead, he hiccups, a thin, wet sound, fingers scrabbling at his knees in an effort to keep upright. His chest feels tight and small, and his head is swimming, the overhead lights too bright by far. A tension headache bursts behind his temples, every muscle shivering with stress, and he's just about to topple over completely when Cas catches him, one arm braced around his back and the other beneath his knees.

'I've got you,' Cas murmurs, and lifts him up in a bridal carry, dropping a kiss on his forehead as they enter the bedroom. Nudging the covers back with a toe, he lowers Dean onto the mattress, blue eyes as calm and warm as a summer ocean.

'You want me to undress you?'

'Please,' Dean croaks, then shuts his eyes, lying back as Castiel unties his shoes, strips his socks, unbuttons his jeans and shirt, and slowly eases him into nakedness, every touch gentle and featherlight. His nipples peak in the cool air, and then there's a pause as Cas steps back to strip himself. Dean lolls his head onside, watching as Cas turns out the light climbs in beside him, pulling the blankets over them both.

They curl up together, Cas's chest warm against Dean's back, an arm around his waist. Cas drops gentle kisses along the line of his shoulder, up the nape of his neck and down again, and as their legs tangle, Dean shuts his eyes, still utterly exhausted, but settled, secure.

 _Safe._ He feels safe with Cas, safe and cherished. It's a traitorous thought, but deep down, a part of him sometimes worries that Sam and Bobby only love him because they have to, out of loyalty or habit; they never had the option of choosing someone better, and when he's trapped in his head – when he can't love himself – it's hard to remember what family means.

But Cas had a choice, and Cas picked him. It's new and strange and wonderful, and part of Dean is absolutely terrified of being tricked, of losing what he's never had, but Cas chose him, Cas brought him home, and Dean falls asleep with gentle lips against his skin and hands that warm his own.

 


	20. Chapter 20

 Cas wakes slowly, grinning into his pillow as Dean nuzzles his shoulder. Sometime in the night, they've shifted position, and now it's Dean who's holding him, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on Cas's ribs. Carefully, Cas rolls over, putting them face to face.

'Hello, Dean.'

'Hey, Cas.'

Dean glances at his lips, then up again, holding Cas's gaze as he leans in and kisses him. It's almost chaste, and the happiness he feels at the contact is all out of proportion to its simplicity.

'It's raining,' Dean says, smiling softly.

Cas tilts his head to listen. Sure enough, there's a steady, pleasant drumming on the roof and walls, made rhythmic by the higher counterpoint of rain on glass: a summer storm. The light coming through the bedroom window is muted grey, but still just bright enough to pick up the sunbleached threads in Dean's hair, the gold flecks in his eyes.

'It is,' Cas agrees, and presses closer, tangling their legs. Their noses brush together – accidentally at first, but then Cas does it on purpose, an Eskimo kiss that makes Dean laugh.

'Dork,' he says, fondly.

'Your dork,' Cas agrees, as easily as he did last night. This time, though, Dean's conscious enough to question it, lips quirking.

'Mine, huh?' His fingertips drift across Cas's collarbone, over his throat and jaw. 'What's the catch?'

'No catch,' says Cas, and gently grabs his hand, kissing Dean's knuckles, fingers, palm. 'Just yours.'

Dean's breath catches, eyes widening as Cas drops another kiss on his wrist, then does the same to his forearm, lips skimming upwards to gently bite Dean's shoulder.

' _Fuck_ ,' Dean gasps, and Cas keeps going, kissing up his throat and across his jaw. Dean shudders, sliding a hand through Cas's hair to guide their mouths together, and as they shift positions, Cas rolls back, an arm around Dean's waist, and pulls his lover on top of him. They're both hard, rutting against each other – and then, abruptly, Dean sits upright, straddling Cas's waist with both palms pressed to his stomach. His eyes are wide and gorgeous, and Cas watches, transfixed, as Dean's hands slide up his torso to curl around his shoulders.

'Here's what's going to happen,' Dean breathes, thumbs stroking Cas's clavicle as he leans in close. 'You're going to lie back and touch yourself while I go get cleaned up, and then I'm going to ride you. Does that sound good?'

Cas makes an involuntary noise of pleasure, scanning Dean's face for any sign of hesitance. They've done a lot in bed, but not this, and as much as he wants to respect Dean's boundaries, Castiel would be lying if he said he didn't want it. 'You're sure?' he says, hands skimming across Dean's ribs.

Dean grins and kisses him, deep and wicked, lithe body grinding against him. 'I'm sure,' he says, nipping Cas's earlobe. 'Want to feel you in me.'

Cas outright groans. 'Yes. God, yes.'

Dean chuckles. 'I hoped you'd say that.'

He rocks back on his heels and climbs off the bed, smiling as he heads for the bathroom. Dazedly, Cas watches him go, then kicks back the blankets, reaching to pull out a condom and lube from the bedside table. Before he lost his virginity, he'd assumed there was something inherently special that differentiated penetrative sex from the other kind; a greater intimacy, maybe, or a higher degree of trust. His first time, though hardly unpleasant, disillusioned him on that point, and even with Joseph and Alex and Elliott, that original sense of anticipation – of personal significance – never quite came back to him. But with Dean, it's different, and not just because simply kissing him is enough to make Cas ache; it's that it matters to _Dean_ , and that Castiel knows why.

Shivering with want and something too profound to name, Cas strokes himself, a teasing touch, and waits for Dean to claim him.

 

*

 

Dean preps himself in the bathroom, biting his lip to keep quiet. He wants Cas so badly, it's like an itch in his blood; like waiting any longer might actually hurt. It's the corniest fucking line in the world, but he's never felt this way about anyone before – has never even come close. Yesterday was one of the hardest days of his life, and Cas didn't flinch for a second; just guided him through it, anchored and held him, carried him and kissed his neck and kept him whole, and Dean had been so certain of nightmares; had braced for them all the way home. But the horror never came: instead, he slept deep and dreamless, waking to the soft tattoo of summer rain and the warmth of Cas's back, and it's not that Dean was scared before, but he's ready now, and he wants, he wants, he _wants_.

Barely stifling a gasp, he pulls his fingers free, washes them clean, and saunters back to the bedroom, pulse hammering in his chest. He stops in the doorway, savouring the sight of Cas propped up against the pillows, breath hitching at the way those gorgeous blue eyes fix on him and widen.

Mouth suddenly dry, he forgets whatever attempt at seduction he'd initially planned on, crawling straight up onto the bed to straddle Cas, kissing him deeply. Cas moans and kisses back, his hands coming up to cup Dean's face, and Dean doesn't think he'll ever tire of the way Cas touches him, reverent and hungry all at once. Reaching down, Dean strokes Cas's cock, thumbing the slick latex of the condom, and gasps out, 'I'm ready too, I mean, I already – fuck, I need you, please –' and slowly sinks down onto him, moaning deep in his throat.

' _Dean_ ,' Cas says, and it sounds like a prayer, their gazes locked, both breathing hard. It's been a while since Dean's done this, and longer since he's done it sober, but he's pretty sure it's never felt this right before. Fully seated, he stills, adjusting to the stretch, thighs trembling where Cas strokes the muscle, up and down, up and down. Dean kisses him again – cheek, temple, jaw, mouth – and when he finally starts to move, it feels like a revelation. Cas grips his hips, thrusting up in a rhythm to match the one he sets, and Dean just tips back his head and rides him, back arched as he braces his hands on Cas's thighs.

Cas leans forward, sucking a hickey onto Dean's neck, the pleasure-pain enough to have him gasping. He feels almost wild, lifting one hand to sink his fingers into Cas's hair, dragging his mouth higher up the column of his throat, and all the while he never stops moving, grinding down with a filthy roll of his hips. Cas's hands move upwards, wrapping around his back, sharp stubble scraping across Dean's chest as he sucks on a nipple, nipping gently at the sensitive skin.

Dean practically whimpers, writhing against Cas, rhythm faltering as he tips them both back against the pillows.

'Cas,' he pants out, 'Cas Cas Cas,' and only stops when Cas kisses him, sweet and sinful, holding Dean in place as he fucks up into him, nailing his prostate. It's so unbearably good, Dean breaks the kiss, almost sobbing into Cas's shoulder as he grips the headboard for leverage, moving down against him. He's so close to the edge, it seems impossible he hasn't toppled over – and then Cas grips his cock, palm gliding against precome, and sucks Dean's bottom lip between his teeth, and Dean explodes like fireworks, striping Cas's chest with white.

'Oh, fuck,' Cas gasps, hips stuttering as Dean clenches around him. He tips his head back, one palm splayed against Dean's back as he strokes him through the aftershocks with the other, and then he thrusts up into him and comes, panting Dean's name.

For a moment, they rest together, Cas's forehead against Dean's chest. Then Dean chuckles weakly, kissing Cas's temple as he somehow finds the energy to climb off him, groaning as he falls back onto the mattress. Cas makes a frustrated sound at the necessity of cleaning up, wiping Dean's come off his chest with a tissue, then throwing both it and the knotted condom aside. Only then does he lie down, pulling Dean against him, stroking him, kissing his hair.

'That was,' Dean says, but can't find the words to explain it. He feels like his heart's expanding; like he has to completely reconfigure his scale for what good sex can be. He clings to Cas, kissing at whatever patch of skin he can reach, so blissed out he never wants to move again. 'God, that was good.'

'For me, too,' says Cas, and holds him just a little bit closer, pulling the blankets up. It's still raining outside, and the sound is like music, washing over both of them.

Washing the whole world clean.


	21. Chapter 21

Though conscious of his promise to return Dean home, Cas can't quite bear to part with him. It helps that Dean doesn't want to leave, either, and the rain provides them with the perfect excuse to stay indoors, half-naked and cuddled under a blanket, eating toasted sandwiches as they watch their way through _Futurama_. Cas feels like a teenager, kissing behind Dean's ear as they murmur jokes about Fry and Leela, taking alternate bites from the same sandwich because neither of them wants to sit up properly. Not that they're completely oblivious – Dean texts home to let Bobby know he'll be back in the afternoon, while Cas sends a similar message to Gabe, saying that Dean's with him and that Jody's on the case – but otherwise, they're in a bubble.

They finish the sandwiches and somehow start a game of matching friends and family members to _Futurama_ characters.

'Gabe is Hedonism-Bot, obviously,' Dean says, and Castiel dissolves into laughter.

'Oh, that's perfect!' he says. 'And he'd likely agree with you, too. Will you be offended if I say that Bobby is the Professor?'

Dean chuckles. 'That's totally fair,' he says. 'Which means that Sam is Fry.'

'Not you?'

'Hell no,' says Dean. 'I'm Bender.'

'Who am I, then?' Cas asks.

Dean rolls in his arms, smiling up at him as he considers the question. 'You're the Countess de la Roca,' he says, finally. 'From the space Titanic episode, you know.'

'I can live with that,' says Cas, and kisses him.

The angle is too awkward to give them much depth, but Dean leans into it anyway, two knuckles brushing the curve of Cas's cheek. He laughs when they break apart, then settles back against Cas's chest, completely relaxed.

It's a small moment, domestic and simple, but Cas's heart skips violently, like a myoclonic jerk. Breath catching, he looks at Dean, drinking in the now-familiar lines of his tattoos: the thorny band around his right bicep, symbol of his own survival; the phoenix on his left shoulder, commemorating his mother; the cartoon Bullwinkle on his right hip for Sam, chosen in reference to a fraternal in-joke. Dean explained it last week, and now Cas smiles whenever he sees it.

'So given that Sammy is Fry,' Dean says, 'is it weird if I make Jody Leela?'

'Only if you're wedded to heteronormative canon romances.'

Dean snorts with laughter. 'That'd be a no, then. I'd say that Jo is Amy, but she'd probably kill me. No, wait, I've got a better one – Jody is LaBarbara, and Jo is Leela.'

'Perfect,' says Cas, and as Dean flashes him a grin, his pulse does that same lurching judder-jump as before, and part of him thinks, suddenly, _Oh, I'm in love with you._

_Oh._

Cas swallows hard and pulls Dean just a little bit closer, pressing a soft, slow kiss to his neck, his thoughts a whirl. He and Joseph disagreed too passionately to ever love each other, and with Elliott, things were never passionate enough. Alex, however – Alex, he loved, though Cas was still so shy and new to himself, it was almost three months before he found the courage to admit his own feelings, for all that they'd been there for a while. He tries to remember those first early stirrings, wanting some personal precedent for how fast and hard he's fallen for Dean, but even at his earliest guess, it took him at least a month to fall for Alex.

He's known Dean for just shy of three weeks, has been with him for two, and he loves him. The revelation is breathtaking, terrifying; he wants to confess it, but doesn't dare – not yet, not this soon. And yet he can't stop smiling, happier than he's been in forever. _I love you_ , he thinks, and kisses Dean's hair, one hand thumbing patterns across his ribs.

'Hey, Cas?' Dean asks, voice suddenly hesitant.

Cas stills, absurdly worried that he's given himself away. 'Yeah?'

'You, uh. I was thinking, if you wanted – I mean, if Bobby says it's okay – if you wanted to come for dinner tonight?'

'I'd like that very much.'

Dean sighs in relief. 'Me, too,' he says, and leans forward, grabbing his phone from the coffee table. 'I'll text him to ask, but it should be fine. I mean, after yesterday, he's definitely going to want to give you the fifth degree, but we might as well get it over with.'

'Should I bring something?' Cas asks.

'You mean, apart from me?'

He says it so slyly, Cas can't help but chuckle. 'Apart from you, yes.'

'He likes whiskey,' Dean says, after a moment. 'He'll probably think it's a bribe, but he won't care.'

'Done,' says Cas, his fingers carding gently through Dean's hair. Love twists through him like lightning, and as Dean settles back against him, his lips twitch. He might not be ready to tell Dean yet, but that doesn't mean he'll keep his mouth shut altogether, and there's really only one person Cas can talk to.

Gabriel is going to be _insufferable_.

 

*

 

Dean stands in front of the door, his hand on the handle. He glances at Cas, who's gripping a bottle of whiskey, and asks, 'You ready?'

Cas softens, smiling ruefully. 'As I'll ever be.'

Dean smiles back at him, a rush of warmth in his stomach. He can't put his finger on what it is, but something's changed between them, and not just because of the sex. He feels closer to Cas, and he doesn't think he's imagining that Cas feels closer to him, too. Neither of them seems to want to drift out of contact, and with every small, affectionate touch that passes between them, Dean feels a tug in his chest.

'Let's do this,' he says, bumping their shoulders together.

He opens the door and heads on in, his boyfriend by his side.  


	22. Chapter 22

It's not the most awkward family dinner Cas has ever been to, but it certainly rates in the top ten. He tries to think of a better word to describe Bobby's attitude towards him than _suspicious_ , which is technically accurate, but which doesn't do justice to the many subtle scowls he expresses between each bite of lasagne. He questions Cas about what he does for a living, expressionless as Cas describes his writing, but his eyebrows raise when Dean, seemingly indignant on Cas's behalf, mentions both that he has a degree in English and that he's already repaid his student loans.

'Well, that's somethin', says Bobby. Ordinarily, Cas would call that particular tone _grudging_ , but he's starting to get the impression that Bobby's emotional baseline sits somewhere between passively unimpressed and actively grumpy, and as such, he doesn't take offence. And besides which, he's seated next to Dean, their knees brushing under the table, which makes it difficult to feel anything other than content.

Sam picks this moment to grin at Cas over the lasagne pan, pointedly rolling his eyes in Bobby's direction. It's an unexpected show of solidarity, and Cas can't help but grin back.

'So, you date many teenagers?' Bobby asks, breaking the moment.

'Actually, no,' Cas says mildly. 'Dean would be the first.'

'Fool around with many, then?'

Dean chokes on his dinner.

'No,' says Cas, looking up from his plate. 'I've never been much for casual encounters, and in any case, I have no special preference for youth.' He matches Bobby's protective stare, and though he tries to sound firm, he can't quite keep the fondness from his tone. 'I just like Dean.'

'And I like him,' says Dean, glaring fiercely at his uncle. 'So knock it off, okay?'

'I ain't questioning your feelings, Dean,' says Bobby. 'I'm questioning _him_.'

Abruptly, Dean goes still. 'Right,' he says, voice dangerously soft. 'Because someone actually wanting me – someone good – yeah, that's suspicious. No way he really means it, right?'

Bobby blanches. 'You know that's not what I meant –'

'No,' Dean snaps. 'I don't.'

Putting down his cutlery, Cas reaches down and rests a hand on Dean's thigh, squeezing gently. 'Dean –'

'This is why I didn't want to have him over,' Dean says, cheeks flushed. 'I didn't want to have to sit through this.'

'I have a right to know who you're dating!' Bobby shoots back. 'Goddamit, Dean, you show up at the door last night with a cop and story that makes me wanna get my gun, and then you go home with someone else, and you think I ain't gonna worry about you? I barely slept last night, I was so twisted up!'

Dean lets out a sharp bark of laughter. 'Worry, I get. But this, what you're doing with him? It's not worry, Bobby. It's a pissing contest. And the worst part is, you don't even –' He breaks off, fists clenched on the table, then says, more quietly, 'Has it occurred to you that the last thing I need right now is to doubt my own judgement? To doubt that I'm worth what I want?'

Bobby pales at that, and Castiel feels a pang of hurt for both their sakes. He gives Dean's leg another squeeze, turning to speak to him, but before he can get a word out, Dean shakes his head and gets up from the table, hip banging into the sideboard as he stalks out of the room.

Sam, who's been watching the drama with wide eyes, gapes after his brother. Bobby grips the table, glaring at Cas like this is somehow all his fault, but Cas can't find it in him to be angry.

'I understand your worries,' he says, into the silence. 'I know this is a... complex situation.'

'That's an understatement,' Bobby mutters.

'But this isn't... he isn't trivial to me, in any sense of the word.' He meets Bobby's gaze again. 'The thought of hurting him – of _anyone_ hurting him... I can't abide it. I won't. Whatever he wants from me, whatever he needs, if it's in my power to give it, I will.'

'You can't buy him,' Bobby says, sharply. 'He's not for sale.'

'I know that,' Cas says. 'And I don't want a thing from Dean unless he's willing to give it.' He stands, and when he speaks again, it comes out raw. 'Your son is extraordinary. I tell him so, and he doesn't believe me; not quite. Not yet. But one day, I hope, he will.'

And with that, he turns and goes in search of Dean.

 

*

 

Dean leans against the side of the house, his arms across his stomach as he stares out at the empty lot. God, it's not like he hadn't thought Bobby would ask that stuff; he just figured he'd be able to handle it better. Instead, he feels like an oyster that someone's tried to pry open in search of a non-existent pearl; as though there's nothing he can say to make it right. Throat tightening, he starts to walk towards the fence, but stops as the back door creaks open.

'Dean?'

Some of the tension drains from him, though his stomach twists with anxiety. 'Guess he didn't shoot you, then,' he says, trying for levity. 'Any flesh wounds?'

'Nothing major,' says Cas, and steps up behind him, wrapping Dean against his chest. Lips brush gently against his neck. 'You?'

'I'll live,' Dean says, hoarsely. Twisting in his arms, he looks at Cas, braced for the recrimination he's half afraid of finding. 'God, I'm so sorry, you shouldn't have to put up with that crap –'

'Hey, no. Don't apologise.' Cas smiles and kisses his forehead, pulling him into a hug. 'Family is what it is. He wants the best for you.'

'I know.' Dean shuts his eyes, trying to take comfort from their closeness. 'I don't feel like I deserve you, Cas. Part of me thinks I'm an idiot to trust this won't go wrong, and part of me doesn't care, because you'll still be the best thing I ever had.'

Cas grips him tightly, one hand cupping the back of his head. 'Oh, heart. No. No. Don't think that.'

The endearment catches Dean off guard, like brushing an electric fence. 'Heart?' he asks, half convinced that he's misheard.

Cas laughs and kisses his cheek. 'Heart,' he says, softly. 'My heart.'

Dean feels utterly undone. 'Yours,' he whispers, and pulls Cas into a searing kiss, arms twining around his neck. It's deep and slow and perfect, like learning a new way to breathe. Cas's hands slide up beneath the hem of his shirt, stroking his back, and Dean just presses into him, aching with the need to be close. He gasps into Cas's mouth, shuddering as Cas moans in turn, the drag of their mouths a warm, exquisite intimacy that sparks through him like fire, because Cas called him _heart_ , _his_ heart, and Dean doesn't know what love is, but maybe it's this; _oh god, please let it be this_.

This time, it's Sam who interrupts, coughing pointedly from the back door. Not even a little embarrassed, Dean breaks the kiss, sneaking a glance at his brother.

'You all right, Sammy?'

'I was going to ask you the same thing,' says Sam. 'I'm fine, and Bobby's sorry. He probably won't say it, but he is.' He hesitates, then says, unhappily, 'He asked me a lot of stuff, last night. Like did I know about Garrison, did I think you'd been acting differently, all that crap.'

Dean's pulse ticks up again. 'And?'

Sam sighs. 'I told him the school made you sad. You used to be sad all the time, but when we first got here, you stopped for a bit. And then you went to Garrison, and you got worse again. But I didn't think it was – I mean, I just figured it was culture shock, like you were just dealing with rich asshats or whatever.'

Somehow, Dean manages to laugh. 'I was,' he says. 'It just... they weren't the problem.'

'I know,' says Sam. He flicks his gaze to Cas, back straightening. 'He also asked me about Castiel. What he was like, what I thought of him.'

'Sammy, you don't have to –'

'I told him,' says Sam, levelly, 'that Cas is a good person. And that you, even when things were good for us, I've never see you smile this much. He makes you happy.' His lips quirk as he rolls his eyes. 'You make each other happy, because you're totally gross dorks, but I can work with that. So.' He shrugs. 'I mean, I'll understand if you want to stay angry, but Bobby's not mad at you, and he's not mad at Cas. He's mad at himself, 'cos he didn't realise you were so unhappy in the first place, and now he's pissed all over again because he thinks you being so happy with Cas means you've given up thinking you can be happy with us. He's scared you're moving on from him before he's had a chance to make it right – not that he's really done anything wrong, but you know how he is.'

Dean stares at his little brother, gobsmacked. 'Apparently, I don't know nearly as much as you.'

'That was... quite impressive, Sam,' Cas adds. 'Very astute observations.'

Sam just laughs. 'Yeah, well, I _astutely observed_ him drunk-dialling Rufus Turer last night after he thought I was asleep. He was kinda specific about thinking he'd fucked up.'

Abruptly, Dean feels a surge of affection for his little brother. Stepping away from Cas, he walks over to Sam and hugs him, ruffling his hair – and for once, Sam doesn't knock his hand away: just grins and bears it.

'Still checking for antlers?' he asks.

'They'll come in eventually,' Dean says, tweaking his ear. He takes a deep breath, and something in him settles. He looks at Cas, who smiles, and then at Sam, who tilts his head towards the kitchen.

'So, you coming back in or what?'

'Yeah,' says Dean, and as Cas steps up beside him, he twines their fingers together. He smiles at Sam, tentative but genuine. 'I guess we are.'  


	23. Chapter 23

The evening is better after that.

True to Sam's prediction, Bobby doesn't exactly apologise, but he hugs Dean tight when they come back in, mutters gruffly about how he's never been good with words, and when Dean laughs and says, 'And here I thought you were the poet laureate,' the remaining tension breaks. Cas helps Sam clear the kitchen table, and the four of them eat desert – a homemade apple pie and ice cream – with the mood considerably lightened. Bobby doesn't ask Cas any more questions about his life, but he listens whenever he talks, a quiet, speculative look in his eye.

Near the end of the meal, Bobby offers Cas a glass of the whiskey he brought, and though he's tempted, Cas declines on the grounds that he doesn't want to drink and drive, especially with Dean in the car. Bobby's eyebrows lift at that, and though he can't be sure, he feels like the response was the right one.

'Actually,' Dean says, reaching over to squeeze Cas's hand, 'I was thinking I might stay here tonight. Spend some family time, you know.'

And Cas, who'd half expected as much, ignores the way his stomach twists at the thought of sleeping apart, and says, 'Of course.'

'Besides,' says Dean, kissing his cheek, 'we've got rehearsal tomorrow. I'll see you there.'

'Dorks,' Sam mutters, spooning pie into his mouth.

'You're just mad because you're too chicken to ask Josie out,' says Dean, then throws up his hands in self-defence when Sam flicks a glob of ice cream at him. 'Hey! You don't like it, ask her to the movies!'

'Maybe I will!' Sam snaps, then flushes when everyone laughs.

Forty minutes later, Cas is kissing Dean goodbye while Bobby looks the other way and Sam hides in the kitchen. He takes his time, holding Dean at jaw and hip, savouring the feel of him, unable to keep from gasping a little when Dean nips his bottom lip, kisses his jaw and murmurs, directly into Cas's ear, 'I'll call you when I'm alone.'

'Okay,' Cas says, more than a little breathless, and before he can think better of it, he drags Dean in for another kiss, hot and quick, before they pull apart again, blushing furiously under Bobby's scrutiny.

'It was nice to meet you, Castiel,' says Bobby, dryly, and when he extends his hand, Cas tries very hard to project an air of adult competence.

'You, too,' he says, and with a final glance at Dean, he forces himself to walk to his car and drive home, alone.

His apartment feels too big, too quiet. It's just after nine, and Cas isn't sleepy: the mood he's in, he can easily belt out a couple thousand decent words before bed. Fingers itching with the sudden need to write, he sets his phone down beside his laptop, pours himself a healthy tumbler of scotch, and opens up his latest work document. The words flow smoothly, carrying him into that perfect space where time and outside thoughts both cease to matter, subsumed by the force of the story. He's been stuck on this section for weeks now, and the relief at being able to break through is an adrenaline rush all its own.

Cas doesn't look up for nearly two hours, and when he finally sits back, he's written almost four thousand words; not quite a personal best, but close to it. He smiles, drains the last of his scotch, pours himself a refill, then finally picks up his phone, a pang of longing twisting his chest as he realises he still hasn't heard from Dean. Most likely, he's still talking to Sam or Bobby, reconnecting with his family, and it's this thought that sees Castiel dialling his own brother, settling back on the lounge as he sips his alcohol.

Gabriel picks up on the fifth ring, sounding – as always, and despite the time of night – compulsively chipper.

'Cassie! What up, baby bro?'

It's possible that the scotch has hit him harder than he realised, because instead of easing into the conversation, Cas blurts out, 'I'm in love with Dean.'

Several seconds of pointed silence follow this announcement, during which Castiel braces for the worst of his brother's mockery. But when Gabe finally responds, his tone is unusually gentle.

'Are you sure?'

Cas runs a hand down his face. 'As I've ever been,' he says, unable to keep a hitch from his voice. 'God help me, Gabriel, I know it's soon, I know he's young, but he looks at me, and I just... I feel like I'm home. I don't know how else to explain it.'

'You do realise,' says Gabriel, with a touch of his usual asperity, 'that you more or less just quoted _Finding Nemo_?'

'It's an _excellent movie_ ,' Castiel mutters, blushing into his scotch.

'Agreed,' says Gabe, then sighs. 'Cassie, I don't want to be the voice of pessimism, here – lord knows I think the two of you are sickeningly sweet together – but it's not just the age difference that's an issue. It's the imminent police investigation into his abuse at the hands of the last older man he slept with, and speaking of which, you were planning on catching me up on all that when, exactly?'

'Shit,' says Cas, who'd somehow managed to forget that he hadn't done so already, and promptly sets about remedying the situation. Gabriel listens as quietly as he ever does, which means mostly silence punctuated by humming and the background tap of a keyboard.

'Well, shit,' he says, when Cas is done. 'I mean, that's something, if Jody can nail the fucker, but even so, the sheer extent of it –'

'Tell me about it,' Cas says, wearily. 'And on top of all that, Dean's got to deal with his uncle and brother's reactions to everything, never mind the fact that he's dating me. I mean, tonight ended on a positive note, but it was awkward as hell to start with, and it's not like I don't understand why, but that doesn't make it any easier on Dean.'

There's a tentative pause. 'Cassie, you know I love you dearly –'

'Just say it, Gabriel.' Cas takes an angry swallow of scotch. 'You think I should back off, find someone closer to my age –'

'I think,' says Gabriel, softly, 'that you're in danger of having your heart quite spectacularly broken.'

Something cold lodges in Cas's chest. 'You think he'll leave me?'

'I think he's nineteen and an abuse victim,' says Gabriel, with that same uncharacteristic gentleness, 'and that what he needs long-term might not be what you want from him.'

'I know that,' Cas says, voice suddenly raw. 'Gabriel, I _know_ , all right? From day one, I've told him, I've said it over and over, I don't want a thing from him that he isn't willing to give. And maybe you're right; maybe I'm only going to get myself hurt. But I can't, I can't just stop what I feel, all right? I can't do it, and I'm not about to try.'

'Cassie –'

'Do you have any idea how lonely I've been?' He slams his tumbler down on the coffee table, voice cracking. 'Christ, do you think it never occurred to me what I was getting myself into? The first day I met him, I knew, part of me already knew I'd get in deep with him, and I tried my best to avoid it – I never told you, but I went cruising that night, to that awful place of yours on Elgin Street, and I found some guy to fuck me, and it didn't help, it just made me miserable –'

'Fucking hell, Cassie –'

'– I'm not _like_ you, all right? I don't just _connect_ with people, I don't like casual sex, I despise the dating scene, but I've been so fucking _lonely_ , Gabriel, and then you put him opposite me, you tell me you've hired this beautiful young man who I can't possibly have, which is already like a red rag at a bull, but even if you hadn't said anything, even if I'd met him on the street a year from now, or ten, I'd still have wanted him just as much. Do you understand that?' He's gripping the phone so tight it hurts, the screen a warm-cold pressure against his ear. 'He was always going to have that power to ruin me, and I was always going to risk him using it, because the alternative is cold, stale silence and unshared sheets, and I'd rather try to have whatever impossible thing this is than ossify through fear of losing it.'

'Christ,' Gabe mutters. 'You really are a poet.'

Cas laughs, short and broken. 'Shut up, Gabriel.'

'If he does ruin you,' Gabe says, after a moment of silence, 'I'm not sure I'll be able to hate him for it.'

Castiel closes his eyes. 'I'd never ask you to.'

'It's my role, though. Big brother, all that jazz.'

'I know.'

'Well, let's hope it never comes to that.' He hesitates, then adds, 'You really are good together, you know. And god knows, I don't want to be right. But I did know you were lonely, Cassie; I just didn't know how to help. And if he helps you, even a little –'

'Goodnight, Gabriel.'

His brother sighs. 'Goodnight, Cassie.'

They hang up, and Castiel rises, phone held loosely in his hand as he trudges off to the bathroom. He feels unspeakably weary, shuddering through his evening routine, and by the time he falls into bed, he's utterly heartsick. Rationally, he knows that Gabriel has a point. Rationally, he knows he has no business wanting Dean the way he does, let alone expecting him to feel the same way. But he can no more let go than he can sprout horns: he loves Dean, and for however long Dean wants him, he'll consider that enough.

He's almost asleep when his phone starts to buzz again.

Blearily, Cas pulls it up to his ear without checking the caller ID. 'Hello?'

'Shit, Cas, did I wake you?'

It's Dean; of course it's Dean. Cas smiles, a sweet ache in the pit of his stomach easing out the emptiness.

'Not quite,' he admits. 'But even if you had done, I'd still be glad you called.'

'Sorry I couldn't ring earlier; Bobby wanted to have a Serious Talk –' the capital letters are clearly audible, '– and after that, Sammy cornered me for advice on how to ask out girls. I tried telling him that I've hardly got a good track record, but he insisted, and I figured, well, if nothing else, at least I can tell him what _not_ to do, you know?'

Cas chuckles. 'I'm sure you did brilliantly.'

It's stupid, but he feels like he can hear Dean smiling in response. 'Yeah, well. Takes one to know one, I guess. You were – shit, Cas, you were perfect tonight, you know that?'

Cas hesitates, the conversation with Gabriel fresh in his mind, then says, softly, 'I miss you.'

'I miss you, too.'

'It's a privilege, waking up to you.' He wants to say more, but the words stick in his throat.

'Fuck, Cas,' Dean says, and this time, there's a definite hitch in his voice. 'Wish I was there right now.'

'Dean, are you – are you touching yourself?'

'Yeah,' Dean says, a breathy chuckle. 'Why? Aren't you?'

'I am now,' says Cas, his free hand shoving the covers aside.

'Fuck, that's hot.' He can practically hear the bitten lip. 'You wanna tell me what you'd do to me, if I was there?'

'That depends,' Cas says, breath quickening as he strokes himself. 'What do you want from me, Dean?'

'Anything. Anything, fuck, just tell me, tell me something –'

'I'd worship you,' Cas says, his eyes slipping shut, the better to focus on Dean's ragged breathing. 'Lay you out and touch you, tease you. Put my mouth all over you. Suck you, eat you out until you're slick with it, arching up under me –'

' _Fuck_ , Cas –'

'– and when you couldn't take any more, I'd sit up, let you watch me prep myself, and then I'd have you fuck me however you wanted, face to face or bent over or riding you, so long as you're inside me, making me feel it –'

'– oh, _fuck_ –'

'– let you do anything, give you anything –'

'– yeah, we can – fuck, baby, we can do that –'

'– want it – want you –'

'– _Cas_ ,' Dean groans, and as he falls over the edge, Cas is right there with him, heart rabbiting in his chest.

'I'd lick you clean, if you were here,' Cas murmurs, and Dean makes a pained, needy noise.

'Shit, Cas, you keep talking like that, I'm gonna end up driving over.'

Cas chuckles weakly. 'That's probably a bad idea, but I can't remember why.'

'Me neither,' Dean says, and for almost a full minute, they just lie there together, each listening to the other breathe.

Finally, regretfully, Cas says, 'We should probably hang up.'

'Nnf,' Dean mumbles. 'Don't wanna.' And then, in a quieter voice, 'I really do miss you, Cas. I sleep better with you there.'

'Me, too.'

'I'll call you tomorrow?'

'Not if I call you first.'

Dean laughs at that. 'Dork,' he says fondly. 'G'night.'

'Sleep well, heart.'

Dean inhales, and for an awful second, Cas worries he's crossed a line. Then Dean says, softly, 'You're mine too, you know.'

'Your what?'

'My heart.'

'Oh,' says Cas, and in that moment, the love in him is so strong, it feels like a tidal wave. Screw Gabriel, and screw caution; if anything's worth being hurt for, it's this. 'God, I wish I could kiss you right now.'

'Right back atcha,' says Dean, and laughs again. 'Is it morning yet?'

'Go to sleep, Dean.'

'All right,' Dean murmurs. 'But only because you said so.'

'Goodnight,' Cas whispers, and ends the call, the phone tucked under his pillow.

 


	24. Chapter 24

With rehearsal not scheduled to start until 5:30pm, Dean spends the whole of Thursday in a state of nervous anxiety. Texting with Cas and playing video games with Sammy keeps him sane, but he's constantly aware of the fact that Jody's plan was to go after Alistair yesterday, and as he hasn't heard from her – and as she's meant to show at rehearsal – he doesn't know if that's a good sign or a bad one.

'You sleepin' over with Cas tonight?' Bobby asks, a half hour before he's due to drop them off at the theatre. He doesn't quite meet Dean's eye, but whatever reservations he has about the relationship, it's clear he's trying to surmount them.

Dean takes a shaky breath and shoots his uncle a smile. 'Yeah. Yeah, I was hoping – I mean, if that's okay, I don't wanna assume I can just –'

'Dean.' Bobby puts a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. 'You're a legal adult, you can come and go as you please. I'm only askin' so I know how much to make for dinner, not because I've got any say in where you sleep, or with who.' Bobby gives him a clap on the back and drops his hand. 'Now, that bein' said, I'm gonna be making meatloaf, so if you wanted to change your mind, I'll understand.'

'Thanks, Bobby,' Dean says. His uncle nods and turns away, which is his own kind of brusque acceptance, and before he can quite stop himself, Dean blurts, 'You know it wasn't your fault, right?'

Bobby freezes in place.

'I mean, uh.' Dean runs a hand through his hair. 'Shit. That came out wrong. I just, what I did, the way I felt when I was – when I started at Garrison, Bobby, you gotta know that's not because of anything you did or didn't do, okay? Hell, you're the best dad I ever had.' He laughs, though weakly, staring at his back. 'I was all messed up on my own account. Never been really good at making smart choices, you know? And after, when I didn't say anything, that's not 'cos I didn't trust you or whatever, I just – I was scared, and I thought the social workers might wanna take Sammy away if the cops said I was lying, too, in case they made out like I was a bad influence on him –'

Bobby spins and crushes him in a hug so hard, it's difficult to breathe.

'I would've liked to see them try,' he rasps. 'Goddamit, Dean, I'm always gonna fight for you boys. Always, you hear me?' He steps back a little, clutching Dean's forearms, eyes suspiciously wet. 'I know it wasn't my fault,' he says, roughly. 'But all the same, I should've known something was wrong. I failed you.'

'Bobby, don't say that –'

'I failed you,' Bobby reiterates, cutting him off, 'and I don't plan on doin' it again. When you and Sammy first came here, I wanted to give you space. Didn't... didn't wanna pry, make you talk about stuff you weren't ready to say. Hell, I figured I was doin' you a courtesy, respecting your privacy and right to silence and all that crap, but I _know_ you, Dean. You hate to burden people with anything, and I should've figured you'd need me to be the one to open up first, let you know it was okay to talk instead of assuming you'd speak up on your own.'

'Bobby –' he tries again, but shuts right up at the look on his uncle's face. Bobby glances away, then sucks in air, his expression unreadable.

'I never got you to talk,' he says, softly. 'But Castiel did.'

Dean opens his mouth. Closes it again, heart suddenly pounding.

'So,' says Bobby, dropping his hands. 'I figure, if I'm gonna be a goddamn adult about all this, I've got two choices. Either I can get my panties in a bunch over you datin' someone unexpected and give you even less of a reason to talk to me, or I can pay attention to the fact that he's the reason you're talking at all, and listen to what you're tellin' me. And what I'm hearin' – ' He breaks off, fists clenching at his sides, and takes a moment. 'What I'm hearin',' he says, more quietly, finally meeting Dean's gaze, 'is that this man, you trust him somethin' fierce. And if he ever abuses that trust, I'll be the first in line to make him regret it, but otherwise – otherwise, he's made you happier in three weeks than anyone or anythin' has in the past three years, and I'd have to be a damn fool to think that doesn't matter. So. That don't mean I'm not still gonna look out for you or ask him about his intentions –' Dean snorts at that, and Bobby almost smiles, '– but otherwise, for what it's worth, you've got my blessing. Just – just be careful, will you? Be careful with each other, and with yourself.'

It's one of the longest speeches Bobby's ever given him, and arguably the sappiest. They both appear to realise this at the exact same moment, and as a slight blush colours Bobby's cheeks, Dean swallows and nods, too overcome to speak. Bobby looks infinitely relieved, but a little sad, too, like maybe he wishes it wasn't so hard for the two of them to talk without getting embarrassed. He starts to turn away, and in the silence, Dean says, softly, 'Thanks, dad.'

Bobby stills, and just for a moment, the look in his eyes is raw, overwhelmed. He glances back at Dean, and says, in a voice that's almost identical to his normal one, 'Go grab your brother. We oughta head out, beat the traffic.'

'Sure,' says Dean, his smile so big, it almost hurts his cheeks. 'I'll do that.'

 

*

 

Cas is so eager to see Dean, he arrives at the theatre a good five minutes before Gabriel does, much to his brother's amusement.

'Seriously, Cassie, you ever heard of playing hard to get?' Gabe asks, unlocking the front door. 'Give him a chance to miss you, maintain a little mystery –'

'Cas!'

He whirls at the sound of his name, grinning stupidly as Dean dashes up and flings himself into his arms. He's bright-eyed and happy, and Cas doesn't give a shit about being obvious: he laughs, catches Dean and kisses him deeply, one hand threading through his hair as the other grips his waist. Sam and Gabe groan in unison, but as far as Cas is concerned, they might as well not exist: he tunes them out, shuddering as Dean kisses back, and when they break apart, it's only because they're both smiling too much to keep going.

'Missed you,' Dean murmurs, arms twined tight around Cas's neck.

Cas kisses the tip of his nose. 'I missed you, too.'

Gabriel makes a walrusy noise of affectionate disgust. 'Oh my _god_ , have you secretly been away at war? Does one of you have six months to live? Come _on_.' And he stalks into the theatre, Sam eyerolling in his wake.

'Sorry about that,' says Cas. 'He's something of a drama queen.'

'I noticed,' says Dean. 'In fact, I think he's taken Sammy as his apprentice.'

'Does that make him a princess, or just a queen-in-waiting?'

Dean pretends to consider, smirking as he kisses the corner of Cas's mouth. 'Jealous,' he pronounces, pressing up against him. 'It makes them both deeply jealous.'

'I'll say,' says Cas, and kisses him again, slow and steady and breathless.

When they break apart, Dean sighs, his forehead resting on Cas's shoulder. 'I haven't heard from Jody yet,' he says, softly. 'If she doesn't show for rehearsal –'

'– then we'll know she's working,' Cas says. 'She's doing everything she can.'

Ever so slightly, Dean starts to shake. 'But what if it's not enough? If he gets away with it again –'

'He won't,' Cas says, fiercely. 'I won't let him.'

Dean makes a helpless noise, and Cas holds him tightly, kissing his hair. Rationally, he knows there's nothing he can do to help put Alistair away, but the rest of him doesn't seem to care. He just wants Dean to be safe and happy and vindicated, and also, for preference, his; and god, it physically hurts to think how little of that he can control, how vulnerable Dean is.

How vulnerable _he_ is, too.

'We should go in,' Dean murmurs, lifting his head. He's actually taller than Cas, though not by much, yet also leaner, lighter. On a purely physical level, it's a contrast that just does something to Cas; or rather, it's the way Dean has of leaning into him, against him, treating Cas like he's something solid and dependable, strong instead of weak. His partners have always wanted him, but he doesn't think he's ever been needed before, nor has he needed them in turn – or if so, it wasn't like this, in a way that feels scarcely secondary to breathing. He smooths a thumb across Dean's cheek, then leans in, kissing the bone.

'We should,' he concedes, and forces himself to step back a little.

'Shit,' says Dean, laughing a little. 'We're totally one of those PDA, handsy couples, aren't we?'

Cas grins. 'Is that a problem?'

'Hell no,' says Dean, and twines their fingers together, shoulders bumping as he leads Cas into the theatre. 'C'mon, Big Bad. Let's break a leg or whatever.'

'Lets,' says Cas, and if his heart still twists a little, it doesn't stop him smiling.

 


	25. Chapter 25

Once the rehearsal gets underway, and despite the small part of him that's still fretting over Jody's absence, Dean manages to relax. Today, they're focussing on the first act, and for all the times he's read over the script and run his lines with Cas in the past few weeks, it hasn't really hit him until today how major a role he's playing – and Sammy, too, for that matter. As Kevin and Charlie stand by and take technical notes on the basis of Gabe's direction, Dean falls into the roll of Little Red Riding Hood – or Red, as he's mostly being called now – and to his surprise, he enjoys himself. He's never really done drama before, but he's spent so much of his life pretending to be someone else, hiding his feelings, putting on a show, that it's almost relaxing to do it in a context without any personal stakes. Sure, there are times when he over-identifies with Red, and it's not like his anxiety about the Wolf scenes has vanished altogether, especially now that his fellow castmates know about Alistair, but otherwise, it's... fun.

The guys playing the princes, Aaron and Benny – the latter of whom is doubling up his roles, making “Granny” into an underworld alias for Charming – do a runthrough of their big song, _Agony_ , and it's funny enough that Dean laughs along with the rest of the cast. They've got great chemistry together, and their timing is perfect; Gabe only has to give them minimal direction beyond the blocking, and they nail it.

After that, they switch to the big number between Rapunzel and the Witch, and Sammy's eyes light up the second Josie takes the stage. It goes against every fraternal bone in Dean's body not to mock him for it, but given that he's currently holding hands with Cas, he figures he can let it slide just this once. And besides, Josie is great on stage; she's sarcastic and funny and confident in real life, but the second they start the scene, she goes utterly doe-eyed, so convincingly vulnerable and passive that after being yelled at by the Witch, Rowena actually breaks character to make sure she's okay. Everyone laughs at that, and Gabriel looks momentarily smug; it's not like he's the one doing the acting, but Dean supposes he still gets some credit for his casting choices.

As Rowena and Josie finish their scene, Sammy shifts in his seat, like he's preparing to get up. On stage, Gabriel narrows his eyes and scans the cast, clearly looking for someone.

'Is Jody here?' he asks.

Dean makes himself answer, a pang in his chest. 'I think she's running late,' he says, and hopes he's only imagining the subtle shift in attention towards him.

Gabe's eyes widen a little, like he'd managed to forget why the sheriff might be otherwise occupied, then nods, turning back to his script. 'Hm. I'd wanted to run the opening scene with Jack and his mother, but if she's not here –'

'Can we run the Wolf scenes?' asks Victor. He's leaning against an aisle chair, arms crossed over his chest, looking utterly unconcerned. 'It's just, I know you've made changes, but Benny and I haven't had a chance to block it yet.'

Dean tightens his grip on Cas's hand. Sooner or later, he was always going to have to perform that particular thing in front of other people; he just didn't think it would be today. This time, he knows there's nothing imaginary about the way the theatre suddenly stills; how even Kevin and Charlie, who've been off to the side in their own little world, sit up and stare at him. Victor, however, seems genuinely confused at the shift in mood, glancing around the room like he can't figure out what's happening, and all at once Dean realises that he wasn't here at the last rehearsal, when everything came out; that Victor _doesn't know_.

It's this fact, strangely, that gives him the strength to speak.

'That's fine with me,' he says, proud of how calm his voice is. From the corner of his eye, he watches as Benny straightens, rising out of his chair. 'I mean, if it's cool with everyone else.'

Gabriel waits a beat before nodding, gaze flicking from Victor to Cas to Dean. 'Sure,' he says. 'Let's give it a whirl.'

As he ascends the stairs, Dean tries and fails not to look at Sammy. His brother is tense as a wire, gripping the arms of his seat, and Dean almost falters. Only the gentle pressure of Cas's hand in his keeps him steady, accompanied by a gentle kiss to the skin behind his ear.

'I've got you,' Cas murmurs. 'If you're triggered, if you need to tap out, just call stop, okay?'

'Okay,' Dean says, and then they're up on stage with Victor, Benny and Gabriel, standing by as the latter talks them through the blocking. Cas and Dean are at a slight advantage, given that they've already run this scene before, but theirs are the most complex physical interactions. When Victor – or the Baker, rather – interrupts the Wolf's assault, he does it by shooting from the doorway, firing a shot that wings the Wolf and forces him back. Red steps away, and once the Baker cuts Granny free, the two of them use the same ropes to bind the bleeding Wolf and lead him to the front of the stage, taking up their respective flanking positions as Red sings hissong, kills the Wolf, claims his leather coat and gives the Baker his old red hoodie.

'Obviously, we don't have props yet,' Gabriel says, 'and Cassie, when we do it for real – and in the dress rehearsals – there's going to be a squib going off on your arm where the bullet hits, but otherwise, it should be pretty simple to walk through. So!' He claps his hands and steps aside. 'For the sake of continuity, let's start with _Hello, Little Boy_ , so we can walk through the scene change after the Wolf and Red exit, then we have the assault, then _I Know Things Now,_ and we'll finish with the coat exchange. Is that all right?' And he looks right at Dean.

Somewhat paradoxically, he's relieved they're doing it all the way through: it gives him time to ease into things, instead of having to do the assault from a cold start – which is, he suspects, what Gabriel's intending. 'Sure,' he says, and just like that, they're up.

It's not the first time Dean's acted in front of an audience – he's rehearsed other scenes on other days – but it is the first time it's felt so personal, and for a moment, he freezes. But then Cas catches his eye and smiles, and something in him relaxes. It's not just that he trusts Cas; it's that he wouldn't trust this part of himself to anyone else, and when Cas starts singing, his rich voice rolling through the opening lines of _Hello, Little Boy_ , it's easy to fall into being Red; to let himself be wooed. When they kiss, there's a brief ripple of laughter, followed by a sharp intake of breath when Dean falls to his knees. Combined with the expression of unfeigned lust on Cas's face, the reaction does something powerful to him, and as he unbuckles Cas's belt, moving them backwards into the wings, he seriously considers the possibility that he has an exhibitionist kink.

'Excellent!' Gabriel says, breaking the moment. 'Right, now, Benny – you get into position there, and Victor, we need you over here –'

'You all right?' Cas asks, his voice a little huskier than usual. Dean grins at him, gaze lingering on Cas's belt as he does himself up again.

'Very,' he says, just as Gabe yells out, 'Cassie, get over here!'

'Right,' says Cas, flashing Dean an apologetic smile, and hurries to comply.

They haven't done this bit before, and there's a few minutes of to-ing and fro-ing before Gabriel is satisfied with the blocking, calling Kevin over to make notes about the set design for Granny's house. Once that's done, however, they're all back in position: Benny tied up on the floor, Cas standing over him – 'Pretend you've got a knife, Cassie – that's it!' – and Dean re-entering from the opposite side of the stage, with Victor in the wings.

Dean takes a deep breath, and moves.

At first, he forgets the audience, falling into the rhythm of the blocking as he steps into the house-space – there's no set yet, but Gabriel's put some tape on the floor to signify the doorway – and starts the scene proper. The desk is there, the same as before; but unlike in their previous rehearsals, Dean has to look straight at Benny, meeting his gaze before looking back at Cas, and whether it's Benny's own emotion bleeding through or what he wants for the character, Dean doesn't know, but either way, the look in his eyes is tense and worried, and something inside him flips.

Stomach churning, he lets Cas grab him, muscle memory carrying him around the table, up against Cas's chest as the Wolf bends Red over, and it's not quite a flashback, not in the usual, visceral sense, but he knows he's being watched and what it means, and that changes things. The subtle hiss of shock from the audience isn't for Red at all; it's for _Dean_ , because his castmates know, _everyone_ _knows_ , and as Cas shoves him down, it's an effort not to fight the hold. He wants to tap out – he _should_ tap out – but he can't do it, not with everyone watching; not when he can't so much as pretend to be freaked out by something else. He starts breathing too fast, struggling to stay in the scene, and when Victor bursts in and pretends to shoot Cas, he almost sobs with relief at being let go, stumbling free, barely remembering where he's meant to go.

There's a pause in the action as Gabriel calls out blocking instructions to Benny and Victor, which direction results in Cas on his knees at the front of the stage. It only takes a moment, and then they're back to the scene. Dean's hand is clenched around the handle of a pretend knife, white-knuckled as he circles the Wolf, and suddenly he's not looking at Cas any more, but the embodiment of a predator, and when he starts to sing, his voice is raw and dark.

 

_'Mother said_

_Straight ahead_

_Not to delay or be mislead_

_I should have heeded her advice –_

_But you seemed so nice...'_

 

Dimly, he's aware of a shift in the audience as Jody Mills – finally, belatedly – enters the theatre; he lifts his head, takes in the sight of her watching him, and keeps on singing, unable to stop.

 

_'And you showed me things_

_Many beautiful things_

_That I hadn't thought to explore._

_They were off my path_

_So I never had dared_

_I had been so careful_

_I never had cared_

_And you made me feel excited – well,_

_Excited and scared.'_

 

Dean drops to his haunches, the tip of his imaginary knife pressed to the underside of the Wolf's chin.

 

_'When you said 'come in'_

_With that sickening grin_

_How could I know what was in store?_

_Once your teeth were bared, though –_

_I really got scared – not excited,_

_Just scared._

_And you drew me close..._

_And you drew me close...'_

 

His voice breaks on the line, and in the silence of the song, he smells ink and leather, feels the painful press of a hand on his shoulder. He's crying now, the tears slipping out of their own accord, but he can't stop, won't let himself falter, and keeps going despite them, straightening as he sings.

 

_'And I know things now_

_Many valuable things_

_That I hadn't known before –_

_Do not put your faith in a cape and a hood_

_They will not protect you_

_Though they should_

_And take extra care with strangers_

_Even flowers have their dangers,_

_Scary's not exciting,_

_And nice is different than good.'_

 

He steps behind the Wolf, his free hand gripping his hair, and glances between Granny and the Baker.

 

_'Now I know_

_Don't be scared_

_Granny is right –_

_Just be prepared._

_Isn't it nice to know a lot?'_

 

He draws the blade of the imaginary knife across the Wolf's throat, hard, and flings him away in the same motion. The Wolf topples over, sprawling on the stage, and as Dean drops the weapon – or opens his fingers to signify its absence – he sings the final line, the syllable choked with tears.

 

' _Or not.'_

 

And he knows, he knows there's meant to be more after this, that he's meant to pull the coat from the Wolf and talk to the Baker a final time, but whatever stubbornness got him through the song abandons him. Instead, he starts to cry in earnest, thumping down to his knees, and Christ, he feels so fucking pathetic, but then Cas is rearing up, worry in his eyes as he pulls Dean close, and Dean holds onto him, gripping his shirt as he sobs into Cas's shoulder.

'Oh, heart,' Cas whispers, sounding almost as wrecked as Dean feels, 'you should've said, we could've stopped –'

'Couldn't,' Dean croaks, 'they know, everyone knows, they _know_ –'

'Know what?' says Victor, utterly bewildered. 'What am I missing, here?'

'Context,' says Benny, his heavy drawl somehow heavier than usual, and as he walks over to Victor's side, Dean has to look away. He doesn't hear what Benny says to Victor, but then, he doesn't need to; Victor's sharp inhale and muttered _Jesus_ is confirmation enough. He sucks in air, focussing on the soothing stroke of Cas's hands up his back and sides, and wonders how the fuck he's ever going to perform this for real, if he can't get through a single goddamn rehearsal without flaking.

'You're not _flaking_ ,' Cas says fiercely, which is how Dean knows he's been speaking aloud. 'Christ, you did so well, that song was amazing –'

'Doesn't matter if I still break down,' Dean says, eyes closed. 'You should replace me. Gabe should replace me with someone better.'

There's movement beside them, the sound of someone settling on their haunches. 'No, he shouldn't,' says Gabriel, gently. 'What he _should_ do is give you an understudy, so you don't have to worry about having a bad day.'

Dean feels his neck and face heat up. 'I shouldn't get special treatment for being a fucking drama queen,' he mutters, but Gabriel isn't having a bar of it.

'You're not,' he says – and then, more loudly, his voice pitched to carry, 'You're not a drama queen. You're someone who deserves the chance to do this, and if anyone has a problem with that, then they've got a problem with me.'

There's a moment of what feels to Dean like deafening silence – and then, of all people, Bela Talbott speaks.

'I know a boy who'd make a good understudy,' she says, in that languid voice of hers. 'Family friend. I would've had him audition at the outset, but he was off on holiday. I can bring him in, if you like?'

Gabriel sounds surprised, but no less gratified. 'That would be fantastic,' he says. 'Dean? Is that all right with you?'

Dean forces himself to pull back from Cas, scrubbing at his face with the heel of his palm. 'Yeah,' he says, hoarsely. 'Yeah, sure.'

He forces himself to look out at his castmates, bracing internally for their irritation, disdain, boredom – everything except what he actually finds, which is fierce compassion, as though everyone is just waiting for an opportunity to leap to his defence.

Overwhelmed, his gaze tracks to Jody, who's standing now, only a meter or so from the edge of the stage, and drained as he is, he doesn't have the energy to try and be coy.

'Did you get him?' he asks. It comes out a rasp, and now as earlier, everyone stills. 'Is it done?'

Slowly, conscious of their audience, Jody nods. 'We got him,' she says. 'He's under house arrest.'

'House arrest?' Dean's stomach churns. 'You mean he's not in jail?'

Jody tilts her head, indicating a need to talk privately. Suddenly, Dean can move again, and as Cas helps him up, he sees Sammy hurrying over to join them. In the background, Gabriel makes a show of waving Kevin and Charlie over to discuss potential scenery options with Benny and Victor, which doesn't quite distract the rest of the cast, but Dean appreciates the effort, and moments later, he, Cas, Sam and Jody are seated quietly off to the side, the better to hear what's happened.

'All right,' says Jody, folding her hands in her lap. Up close, she looks exhausted – Dean wonders if she's even slept – but there's a gleam in her eye that puts her beyond pity. 'So, I used Dean's testimony to get a warrant to search the records at the school, and it paid out: whoever minuted the Board meeting included a partial transcript of Dean's accusations and Alistair's response, presumably because, once Alistair left the meeting, the other Board members discussed his behaviour in private, and _that's_ minuted, too.' She makes a disgusted face. 'Bunch of ass-covering shitweasels – sorry, Sam – but even though none of them wanted to come right out and say they believed he was a rapist, the fact that there'd been more than once incident was giving them a no smoke without fire vibe, and they wanted it on record that they were _concerned_.'

'Fuckers,' Cas growls. He's got an arm around Dean, and his voice rumbles deep enough on the word that Dean can feel the vibration in his chest. He leans back against Cas, gripping his hand, and forces himself to keep listening.

'So, that's smoking gun number one. Number two, as we hoped, were the records regarding Dean's expulsion. Not only does the official reason directly contradict what's said in the minutes for the Board meeting – and not only isn't there a correlation with his academic scores, which, by the way were exemplary –' Dean makes a small, pained noise, and Cas holds him tighter, ' – but while we were at it, I had one of our computer techs check out the emails Dean was meant to have sent to Alistair, and every single one of them was sent from the principal's laptop, so bang goes that ammunition.'

'Jesus,' Dean whispers. It's more than he'd hoped, so much more, but the look on Jody's face says that isn't the worst of it. Or the best, perhaps; he can't even tell any more.

Jody wets her lips. 'The warrant gave us the right to search Alistair's school computer,' she says, softly. 'Remember I told you about the boy who committed suicide in his office, but who supposedly didn't leave a note? Well, he did. And Alistair had a photo of it.'

'Holy fuck,' Sam breathes. 'Why would he... why would he keep something like that?'

'As a sick trophy, probably,' Jody says, disgusted. 'All the emotional impact with far fewer risks. It's a photo of a letter, which makes it much harder to conduct an analysis of it. There's no forensic evidence beyond the date the file was created – it's harder to do a handwriting comparison, which is always shaky ground to begin with – and no way to prove where it came from. But it's... detailed. Signed by the boy. Not dated, but –' she looks at Dean again, her eyes full of steel and sympathy, '– it's safe to say that what he did to you, he'd done before.'

If he hadn't just finished crying, Dean's pretty sure he'd burst into tears at that. He can't name the feeling that creeps through him, a hot flush underscored by numbness, like rubbing aloe on sunburn. He wants to be glad there's evidence, but that feels too much like being glad the other kid died. Somehow, he swallows, nods. Speaks. 'And the house arrest?'

Jody sighs. 'I tried, Dean. God knows, I tried to get him in jail. But his lawyer got up at the preliminary hearing and said it was all circumstantial – that there was no proof that Alistair had been personally responsible for any of it. He said the difference between the minutes and the records could be an administrative error; that, as you'd admitted to having had access to the principal's office, you could easily have sent the emails from Alistair's computer; that someone had sent him the photo of the letter as a sick joke; that the Board acted responsibly in refusing to accept such a wild accusation when the only proof was to the contrary. And then he went on about Garrison's standing in the community, about Alistair's reputation as an upstanding citizen –'

'So, what – the judge took the lawyer's side over Dean's?' says Sam, outraged.

'Not quite,' says Jody. 'It was a compromise. I tried to peg him as a flight risk, to get bail denied, but the lawyer wanted the case thrown out altogether. So instead, the judge set a bail that Alistair, rich as he is, could afford to pay, but he also made the house arrest a condition of it. Now I've got a couple of weeks to build my case – but the next obstacle, of course, is a warrant to search Alistair's home He kept that photo of the suicide note on his work computer; god only knows what he might have elsewhere. Right now, that's not an argument I'm having much success with, so my next gambit is to reinterview everyone who ever accused him, see if I can find grounds to conduct a search of his home, computers included – but of course, he's under house arrest, so if he's got even half a brain, he'll have destroyed any evidence long before I can get there.'

A moment of ugly silence falls. Then Cas asks, 'Even without the new warrant, do you think you can still get him?'

'Yes,' she says, instantly, 'but it's a question of what we can get him _for_. Bastard doesn't deserve to plead out on a minor charge just because he can afford a good lawyer; everything I can get, I'm throwing at him.'

'Thanks, Jody,' Dean says, and as much as it hurts, he means it. She's gone to the mat for him with this, and even if Alistair gets off – which, god, he can't even bear to think about it right now – at least he'll know he tried; at least there'll be a record, a papertrail, a big neon warning sign over the guy to tell other people _Beware!_. 'If there's anything else I can do –'

'– I'll let you know,' says Jody. 'But right now, I think the best thing for you is just to focus on your own life, on moving forward. Whatever happens with him, you're the one who matters. Let me worry about Alistair; you take care of yourself, okay?'

'Okay,' says Dean, and inhales sharply, casting a glance at Cas. 'I might, uh. Do you mind if I get some air?'

'Go ahead,' says Cas, gently kissing his cheek. 'If you need me, I'll be right here.'

Something in Dean flutters at that; at how easily Cas understands him. He's spent so much of his life dealing with crap in secret that taking a moment to himself is just about the only healthy coping mechanism he's ever developed.

Quietly, Dean exits the row of seats and heads out to the theatre door, relaxing a little the instant he's outside. Though it's early evening, the sun hasn't fully set, and everything is cast in shades of peach and gold. Even the tarmac seems gilded, and as he leans against the wall, Dean savours the scent of summer air, sunwarmed still, but cooled with a hint of breeze.

'Dean? Dean Winchester?'

'Yeah?' he says, turning. The speaker is a girl, a stranger, short and pale with wavy dark hair and a heart-shaped face. She's smiling at him, broad and calm, but there's something off about her, too, something he can't place. He frowns, confused, wondering how she knows him. She looks about seventeen, which makes her too young to have ever been one of his classmates and too old to be one of Sam's, but she clearly knows his name.

'Sorry,' he says, when the girl doesn't introduce herself, 'have we met before?'

'Oh!' Her smile widens further, but her lips tremble at the strain of it. 'I'm Meg. I didn't know if you'd know me. We haven't met. And I just, I wanted to say, I wanted – I wanted to meet you. To thank you.'

'Thank me?' Dean blinks at her, puzzled. 'For what?'

'For telling the truth,' she says, and in that moment, her smile is a terrible, broken thing. 'You set me free.'

Dean's pulse starts to rabbit; there's something terribly wrong here, and he doesn't know what it is. 'Uh, Meg, no offence or anything, but you're going to have to be a little bit more specific –'

She nods, gaze darting sideways as a car goes past, and that's when he sees it: there's red flecks on her cheek, tiny spatters that don't seem like much, until he looks down and properly takes in the dark of her clothes – unseasonably dark, who wears a leather jacket in summer? – and the matching stains on her hands.

'You told the truth,' Meg says again, and this time, there's a manic note to her voice, an audible gulp as she swallows. 'Nobody ever did that before, he always – he always shut them up, but then they arrested him and I thought, I thought, I was so close –' her fists clench, red to the wrists, and Dean's stomach turns over, '– but the judge sent him home. He came back _home_ ,' she says, spitting the word, 'and I wanted to go, I wanted to tell, but they wouldn't let me out – my mother and _him_ , they wouldn't – I couldn't get _out_ , and I couldn't stand it, I couldn't be so close and not be free, so I just – I took care of it. Took care of _him_. And now we don't have to worry any more.'

Dean can't even process this; he feels like his heart is beating out of his skin. 'Meg,' he rasps, though he already knows the answer, 'whose daughter are you?'

'Alistair Sharp's,' she says. 'Or at least, I was. But he's gone now. I don't even have to use his name. I can be Masters if I want, like my grandmother. I've always liked the sound of that. Is Jody here? Sherriff Mills?' The sudden change in topic is dizzying, though Meg's voice remains dreamily vacant. 'I'd like her to be the one to arrest me. She seemed nice, at the house. I think she'd let me put Masters on the form. It's a good name, I think. Evocative.'

And she smiles again, triumphant and wild, and holds up her bloody hands.

 


	26. Chapter 26

Dean hasn't stopped shaking for forty minutes. Cas refuses to let him go.

They're sitting just inside the theatre, backs to the wall; or Cas's back is, anyway. Dean is tucked against his side, cheek pressed to Cas's shoulder, and even with Jody and Meg long gone, he's still trembling. The rest of the cast left twenty minutes ago – including Sam and Gabriel, the latter having volunteered to drive the former home – leaving them alone in the building, breathing in a silence Cas had hoped would be calming. He wants to take Dean away from here, run him a hot bath and wrap him in blankets and put him to bed, but every time he suggests they leave, Dean shakes his head and leans into him all the harder, still shivering, still mute.

The last thing he said – the only thing he said, walking back into the theatre with the red-handed girl in tow – was: _Alistair's dead. His daughter killed him. She wants to confess to Jody._

Chaos followed. Cas was at Dean's side in seconds, cupping his face, looking him over, asking him if he was all right, but Dean's gaze slid away from his like oil on water. Eventually, Cas coaxed him into nodding or shaking his head in response to questions, which was sufficient to get him sitting down under Cas's arm, but that's all he's been able to do. Even Sam looked scared, and the only reason he agreed to let Gabriel take him home was so that there'd be an adult on hand to help him tell Bobby about Meg; to reassure him that Dean is being looked after.

But here and now, there doesn't seem to be any sort of comfort Cas can offer that will make Dean speak again. He caught enough of Meg's exchange with Jody to understand why she'd committed patricide – and god, he doesn't blame her; fervently prays a jury won't, either – but he doesn't know what she might have said to Dean to render him speechless; assuming that's even the problem. Dean has a protective streak a mile wide and a guilt complex Cas has barely begun to crack: he can't imagine what Dean is feeling right now, and if the only thing Cas can do to help is wait out his silence, sit with him in an empty theatre as his ass goes numb on the carpet, then he'll do it.

From outside comes the click of footsteps, followed a second later by the front door inching open. Cas finds himself looking at Gabriel, his brother peering down at them with a mixture of fondness and worry.

'Sam got home all right,' he says. Dean lifts his head at that, and relief spears through Cas at even so small a reaction. 'I told your uncle what I could, and apart from wanting you to be all right, his main response was, good riddance to bad rubbish.'

Dean flinches, hunching back into Cas, which response seems to catch Gabriel off guard. He looks at Cas again, eyes widened in surprise and apology, but there's a question there, too, and Castiel can't answer it. He can't imagine that Dean is mourning Alistair's death; but then, he can't fathom any of this.

Gabriel waits a moment, then says, his voice uncommonly gentle, 'I hate to rush you guys out of here, but I need to lock up. You think you're going to be much longer?'

'Dean?' Cas asks, when Dean doesn't say anything. 'We have to go, heart.' And then, throat tightening with anxiety, 'Dean? Can you hear me?'

Dean sighs against him, forehead pressed hard to Cas's collarbone. 'Yeah,' he whispers, almost inaudible. It's not much, but it's enough, and this time, when Castiel goes to stand, Dean moves with him, leaning his weight against Cas's side as they stagger to their feet. Cas lets out an involuntary groan, his ass and thighs alive with the static pain of pins and needles, and Dean flinches again, and god, he's still shaking even now, there's no way that can be healthy.

'It's all right,' Cas murmurs – as much to convince himself as for Dean's benefit. 'I've got you. I've always got you. It's okay. You're safe. You haven't done anything wrong.'

He adds this last reassurance from reflex more than anything else – he can't see that it even applies here, given that Dean literally hasn't done anything – but the second the words leave his mouth, Dean makes a strangled, raspy noise and stops dead, staring at Cas like he did that first day in the courtyard.

_He thinks this is his fault?_

It's such a paradox, the realisation leaves Cas spinning his gears for two full seconds. Dean didn't kill Alistair, but the idea that he's mourning his death is absurd. What on earth can he possibly be feeling guilty about?

And then it hits him: _Meg_. His stomach twists at the ugliness of it, and oh, Christ, he should've seen it. The problem isn't that Alistair's dead; it's that a teenage girl is going to jail for killing her abuser, and Dean – who spent his childhood taking beatings so Sammy wouldn't; who only came forward to try and protect others; who still thinks of himself as a burden more often than he doesn't – Dean, right now, is thinking that he ought to have saved her, too.

Castiel swears softly under his breath, one hand coming up to cup Dean's jaw.

'You haven't done anything wrong,' he says again, and Dean leans into his touch and _whimpers_. 'Dean, you couldn't have stopped Meg from doing this, you didn't even –'

'I could've,' Dean says, eyes bright with tears. 'If I'd fought him, if I went to the cops when it happened, gave them DNA evidence, they would've got him a year ago, no house arrest, and she wouldn't be going to jail – fuck, I could've done it myself, could've stabbed him –'

' _No!_ ' Cas snaps, heart beating wildly, 'Jesus, Dean, then you'd be the one in jail! You realise that?' He grabs his shoulder, squeezing hard. 'Please tell me you haven't been sitting there feeling guilty that you didn't commit murder. Please tell me you're not blaming yourself for what that bastard did to his child, or for being scared, or for thinking the police wouldn't believe you when no one else did, because _this isn't your fault_. All right? You don't get to feel bad that you're not the one in prison, because you're worth so much more than that – to your uncle, to Sam, to everyone.' He thumbs a tear away from Dean's cheek and says, the words a rasp, 'You're worth everything to me.'

Dean just looks at him, utterly wordless – and then he crumples forwards, wraps his arms around Cas's neck, and sobs like his heart is broken. Cas grips him tighter than he's ever held anyone in his life, as though he can somehow haul Dean out of hell through touch alone; and maybe he can, because finally – finally – Dean stops shaking.

'Home?' he croaks, the word a puff of air against Cas's throat.

'Home,' Cas says, and with a parting glance at Gabriel, he leads Dean out of the theatre.

 

*

 

His skin feels cold – too tight, too thin. There's nothing left in him, yet somehow, he manages to keep upright, guided by Cas's gentle hands; Cas, whose warmth is the only thing Dean can feel. The door clicks shut, and Dean lets himself be shepherded into the apartment proper, standing adrift as though he's forgotten how to move. Cas touches him lightly, fingertips flitting along Dean's shoulders, up his neck, across his cheeks.

'Heart?' Cas murmurs, worried and soft. 'Are you with me?'

Dean nods, his throat too dry for words. He needs to speak in much the same way that an abscess needs to be drained, but he can't yet. He looks at Cas, desperately trying to convey his own need through eye contact alone, and for a miracle, it seems to work.

'It's all right,' Cas says. 'Just take your time, okay? I'm right here.' He leans in and kisses Dean softly on the forehead. 'Would you like me to run a bath?'

Dean nods again, relief at the prospect washing through him. He's been eyeing Cas's tub since the first time he ever set foot in the bathroom, but there never seemed to be a right time to ask to use it.

He hasn't had an actual bath since his mom was alive.

Cas's bath is big and deep and long, and as Dean watches the water rise, Castiel undresses him. It's not sexual, intimate only inasmuch as Dean trusts him with his body: it's a kindness, yes, but a perfunctory one, because Dean is barely capable of doing so himself.

Once he's naked, Cas sets his folded clothes aside, then hesitates.

'Do you want me to get in with you, or stay out here?'

 _In,_ Dean tries to say, but still, the word won't come. Instead, he tugs the hem of Cas's shirt upwards, indicating that he should undress, too. Cas complies, leaving his own clothes in a pile beside Dean's, then laces their fingers together, helping Dean into the bath. It's briefly awkward, but the tub is big enough to accommodate them both, and Dean ends up between Cas's legs, leaning back against his chest, Cas's arms wrapped around him as the water continues to rise.

The warmth seeps through him, making him feel a little more human. Behind him, Cas lifts an arm and shifts, grabbing a bottle from the ledge behind his head.

'Bubbles?' he asks, putting the container into Dean's hand.

Dean manages the ghost of a smile. Fuck yeah, they can have bubbles.

He takes off the lid, squirts a generous measure of pale blue liquid under the spray, then hands the bottle back to Cas, watching as white foam starts to flood the bath. By the time Cas finally turns off the taps – they're on the wall, like the spout itself, which means they don't have to lean to reach them – Dean's chest is covered with bubbles, the water level just shy of spilling over.

'Next time, we should light some candles,' Cas murmurs, kissing his hair. 'Maybe put some music on. It's cliché, but very relaxing.'

Slowly, he begins to stroke the plane of Dean's stomach, fingernails scratching lightly at the muscle. Dean shuts his eyes, which are traitorously threatening tears again, and focusses on the sensation, trying to ground himself.

'We don't have to talk about it tonight,' Cas says, softly. 'I just want you to know that, whenever you're ready, I'm here.' His lips brush the skin behind Dean's ear. 'You've done nothing wrong, heart. Now or ever.'

At that, something in Dean breaks. 'She's just a kid, Cas,' he whispers. 'She shouldn't have to go to jail for saving herself. And if I'd been braver, if I'd tried to come forward earlier, then maybe this wouldn't have happened.'

'Alistair deserved to die,' says Cas, his voice a rumble against Dean's back. 'Anyone who hurts, abuses, exploits the way he did, without a shred of remorse – he was a predator, a monster, and I can't regret his death. But I do regret the systematic failures that lead to him going uncaught for so long, that made you feel you were solely responsible for what he did, that made Meg feel she had no recourse but murder. You weren't his first victim, Dean; it might have been Meg, and it might have been her mother, or maybe it was someone else altogether, but a man like that doesn't become what Alistair was overnight. Do you blame that first victim who didn't report him for what happened to you?'

'No!' Dean says, eyes snapping open. 'Of course not. Jesus, Cas, it wasn't their fault –'

'– and neither was it yours,' says Cas, calmly. 'You see? No victim is responsible for what an abuser does to them, and they're certainly not responsible for anything that abuser does to someone else. Coming forward is an act of extraordinary bravery, Dean, but that doesn't make you a coward for not speaking up sooner. Silence isn't cowardly; it's survival. But abusing someone in the first place, making them afraid of you, hurting them because you can? _That's_ cowardice.'

Dean opens his mouth. Closes it. Swallows, makes a small noise in the back of his throat. A part of him wants to insist that it's different for him, because of his dad; that, out of everyone Alistair hurt, he should have been strong enough to endure, to fight back. But if he does that, he's implying that Meg and the others were somehow weaker people; or else, that _he's_ weak for being like them, which is insulting to everyone. He's not weak, and Meg's not weak, and nor is that poor kid who hung himself or the exchange student or the first girl whose parents made her shut up. Dean's not weak, and it isn't his fault, because it isn't anyone's fault but Alistair's for hurting them and the Board's for covering it up.

'It's not my fault,' he says, quietly. A tear slips down his cheek, and he turns in the circle of Cas's arms, just enough to look him in the eye. 'It's not my fault?'

Cas's eyes are soft and sure, his wet palm warm where he cups Dean's cheek.

'It's not your fault,' Cas says, and drops a light, chaste kiss in the corner of his mouth.

Dean draws a ragged breath and lies back against him, one arm raised to grab the back of Cas's neck, the fingers of his other hand laced with Cas's where they wrap across his stomach. The angle presses Dean's forehead against Cas's throat, and for a minute, he just sits there, breathing until the threat of tears passes, focussing on the steady thump of Cas's pulse against his temple.

 _I love him_.

Almost, the realisation makes Dean laugh. He'd doubted it before, worried he was misunderstanding his own feelings, but now, in this moment, it all comes clear. He loves Cas like he's never loved anyone in his life, and hopefully never will again, because however young and needy and naïve it might make him think so, Castiel Novak is it for him. Not that he can say it, of course – it's far too soon, and Dean's not even sure he knows how to speak the words out loud – but he can admit it to himself; he can feel and want and work for it as he's worked for everything in his life, and one day, if he's absurdly lucky, Cas might feel the same.

'You're my good call, Cas,' he says instead, and lifts their joined hands to his lips, kissing the knuckles. 'My one good call.'

'And you're mine,' Cas murmurs, kissing his cheek. 'My heart.'

 


	27. Chapter 27

On Friday morning, Castiel wakes to his phone buzzing on the bedside table. Blinking at Dean, who's still fast asleep, he fumbles the phone up to his ear, lurches out of bed and hits answer once he's safely alone in the lounge room, a closed door between him and his lover.

'Hello?'

'Cassie!' says Gabriel, in a tone of obvious relief. 'Sorry, did I wake you?'

'A bit,' says Cas, collapsing into the armchair. 'What time is it?'

'Not quite nine. I figured you'd be up already.'

'Yeah, well. Last night was pretty draining.'

'That's putting it mildly,' Gabe says. 'I woke up this morning and thought it was all some horrible nightmare until my coffee kicked in.'

Cas glances at the bedroom. 'Tell me about it,' he says, softly.

His brother's wince is damn near audible. 'How's Dean doing?'

'Right now? He's asleep. But after we got home last night, I hope... I think he's doing better. Meg showing up like that, you can't blame him for being upset.'

'Understatement,' Gabriel says. 'Understatement of the fucking _year_.'

Cas doesn't know what to say to that – or at least, he can't think of any response that isn't completely trite – and so says nothing. Gabriel sighs, as if in understanding of this dilemma, and says, 'Look, Cassie. I know you've got a lot on your plate, but there's a reason I'm calling this early.'

'I rather thought there might be,' Cas says, rubbing his eyes. 'Let me guess. Timmy's down the well again?'

'Ha ha.'

'I'm sorry. What is it?'

'Our parents,' Gabe says, bluntly. 'Jody moved fast enough on Alistair that the papers didn't have time to start sniffing around, but after yesterday... I know you don't keep up with the local rag, Cassie, but his death's on the front page. Dean's not mentioned,' he adds quickly, in response to Castiel's sharp inhale, 'not by name, anyway, but you know how the old boys network is, let alone the press. I reckon you've got maybe a day's grace before there's people wanting to interview him, and possibly less than that before dad gets Michael to ring you up and demand to know why your teenage boyfriend is bringing down his beloved school.'

Cas goes cold all over at the prospect. 'Oh, fuck.'

'Quite,' says Gabriel, curtly. 'Which is why you're going to deputise me as your official media-and-familial liaison.'

'I'm _what_?'

'Deputising me,' Gabe repeats, 'as your official media-and-familial liaison. And Dean's, too, for that matter. So that if anyone calls you about all this, be they Michael or media, you can just send them on to me.' He makes an exasperated noise. 'Look, think about it, will you? This story is going to get big, and it's going to happen fast, especially if other victims start coming out of the woodwork – and based on what we've heard so far, I'm betting it won't take long. And once the journos start looking, they're going to find Dean, which means two things: one, they also find you, an older man in a relationship with the nineteen-year-old rape victim who got the ball rolling against Alistair – an older man whose father, coincidentally, is a major donor to Garrison – and two, they also find _me_ , which means they find out about _Into the Woods_ , and the fact that Dean is currently gearing up to portray a rent boy who gets assaulted by, yes, an older man, one who also happens to be played by his current boyfriend, and do I need to explain how fucking messy that's going to look to anyone who stumbles into it all by accident? The kind of allusions that might get thrown about?'

'Oh,' says Cas, with feeling, ' _fuck_.'

'Which is why,' says Gabriel, hammering home the point, 'you need a media liaison. Someone you trust to make an official statement to the press before they get around to connecting the dots – or better yet, someone who can sell Dean's side of things as an exclusive. So. Obviously, you need to put Dean in the loop, but the paper's already out, and I want to get right the fuck on top of this before it blows up in our faces, which means I need to start making calls _now_. You capiche?'

'I capiche,' says Cas. 'Christ allfuckingmighty, I capiche. Consider yourself deputised already.'

'Thanks,' says Gabriel, sounding both smug and exhausted. 'Or something like that.'

'I'll talk to Dean as soon as he's up, all right?' He swallows hard. 'We owe you for this.'

'Figure it's the least I can do,' says Gabe. 'Consider it the gift of my brotherly blessing.' He laughs, sounding raw and awed. 'Christ, you picked a strong one. The amount of shit Dean's had to deal with – the number of people who've fucked him over – and he's still more worried about Meg than relieved for himself? That's some next-level empathy.'

'It's why I love him,' Cas says, a lump in his throat. 'Or one of the reasons, anyway. And if you're going to warn me again about getting hurt, you can save your breath, Gabriel, because I don't care. He's worth it. I love him, and I plan on being with him for as long as he'll have me –'

'Oh, I get it,' Gabe says, fervently. 'Believe me, after last night, I get it. I've got your back, okay? Or your backs, plural. Whatever.'

'Okay,' says Cas – and that's when he looks up and freezes, eyes going wide. 'Uh,' he says, mouth suddenly dry, 'I'll get right on that, then. Talk soon?'

'Sure thing!' says Gabriel. 'Godspeed, little bro.'

He hangs up, and Castiel does likewise, heart hammering as he stares at Dean, who's standing in the bedroom door with a look on his face that says he just heard everything.

'Dean,' Cas says. The word comes out a rasp; he's shaky as he stands, phone clutched loosely in one hand as he wraps his chest with the other. Dean just looks at him, wide-eyed and pale, lips parted like he doesn't know what to say.

'You,' Dean says, taking a step forward, then stops, falls silent. Tries again, jaw working. 'You love me?'

'Yes,' Cas croaks. He doesn't even consider lying, even though his stomach knots up with fear at how this could all go wrong; at the fitting vulnerability of having this conversation while they're both buck naked. 'I – I know it's soon, and I know I'm probably too old for you, and I'll understand completely if you don't feel the same, if you'd rather I not mention it again, but –' he gulps, smiles shakily, '– I love you.'

Silently and slow, Dean closes the gap between them, until they're so close, their faces are almost touching. He looks at Cas with an expression that's half fear, half wonder, and Cas's heart leaps into his mouth, because oh, god, what if this is it, what if Dean rejects him –

'I love you, too,' Dean whispers, and kisses him.

Cas returns the kiss, the reflex too ingrained to do otherwise, and only then does it hit him: _Dean loves him back_. He makes a noise in his throat, phone clattering to the floor as he cups Dean's face and pulls away, drinking in the sight of him, scarcely able to breathe.

'I love you,' he says again, savouring the weight of the words on his tongue, heart threatening to burst from his chest at the way Dean smiles, this brilliant, glowing expression that Cas traces with the tip of his thumb. He leans in, pressing their foreheads together, shivering at the way Dean fits his hands to Cas's bare hips, thumbs grazing along the bones.

'Fuck, Cas,' Dean murmurs, breathless and raw. 'I know we've gotta talk about whatever Gabe just said to you, but are we going back to bed or what?'

'That depends,' says Cas, kissing lightly across his cheek. 'Do you want to go to bed?'

For an answer, Dean grips his waist and tugs him backwards, all the way through the open door, until his legs collide with the edge of the mattress and both of them fall onto it. Dean makes a small, pleased noise and kisses him again, wriggling back up the ruck of sheets as Cas moves with him, utterly lost to everything else and wholly content to be so.

'Can I ride you?' Cas asks, nipping at Dean's jaw.

Dean groans and grabs him. ' _ God _ , yes. Yeah.'

His voice is urgent, but his hands don't rush. Together, they take their time, touching and stroking, kissing and gasping, as reverent as if they've never done this before, and whenever Cas catches Dean's gaze, a jolt goes through him, love and lust and luck. By the time he finally lowers himself onto Dean's cock, the muscles in his thighs are spasming, minute trembles visible to the eye. It's slow sex, sweaty and exquisite, their fingers laced where Cas leans over Dean, panting in the back of his throat as they rock against and within each other, kissing open-mouthed and needy.

'Love you, Cas,' Dean whispers, and Castiel shudders and comes untouched between them, groaning as Dean swears and bucks his hips, following him over the edge in a handful of quickened heartbeats.

Afterwards, when Cas has cleaned them up, they lie together under the blankets, Dean's head on Cas's chest, legs tangled together. Cas feels like he's ascended to a different plane of existence, bonelessly content and utterly unable to stop smiling, fingertips carding gently through Dean's sweaty hair.

'Can't believe I get this,' Dean murmurs, head tipped back to kiss the bolt of Cas's jaw. 'Can't believe I get to have you.'

'Likewise,' Cas says, and leans down to kiss him properly.

When they finally break apart, Dean snuggles closer and resettles himself, one arm curled possessively across Cas's flank.

'So,' he says, 'you wanna fill me in on that phonecall?'

Still stroking Dean's hair, Cas complies. It's weirdly easy; Dean nods as he speaks, his light stubble rasping pleasantly against Cas's chest, but doesn't tense up.

'I should call Bobby,' Dean says, when Cas is done. 'Warn him, you know, in case any reporters come around. But if Gabe can get me an interview or whatever, so long as it doesn't fuck things up for Jody, I'm cool with that.'

'You are?'

Dean shrugs and smiles a tiny, complicated smile. 'I want to tell the truth,' he says. 'If people are gonna ask about it anyway, I might as well get in first.' More softly, he adds, 'And, you know. It might help Meg.'

Cas's heart lurches at that, and he somehow manages to pull Dean even closer, dropping a kiss on his forehead.

'We'll call them,' he promises. 'Soon.'

'Soon,' Dean agrees, but neither he nor Cas makes any move to rise. Instead, they hold each other, and it's not quite perfect, given what's still to come, but it's close, and it's theirs, and it's real.

And it's enough.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I've taken so long to update! Life and other writing stuff got in the way, but I promise the end is in sight :)


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